#vampire chrollo

[oddeyechrollo]

Vampire!Chrollo headcanons

a/n: continuation of my vampyre!chrollo post…. i need to write this fic once and for all. little headcanons i wrote to help me figure out what direction i wanna go in. <3 no tws just mentions of blood. i should probs just make a masterlist for this au. excuse any typos this was all written in my notes app.

* vampire!chrollo enjoys bathing in the moonlight, has a few pools at his castle in different locations so he can clearly see the moon from wherever he is.

* not all of the troupe members are vampires, so he tries his best adjust to their needs. sometimes goes hunting before werewolf!uvogin arrives so he can have meat ready for him. keeps extra stitches and bandages incase Franklin or Bononolev need any.

* doesn’t drink from women or children, only men and animals.

* vampire!chrollo doesn’t rest most of the day, usually takes an hour long nap and either reads or cleans if he’s expecting company.

* used to let phinks cut his hair but he’s learned to do so without a mirror.

* Likes to steal / misplace things from the local village. thinks it’s funny when they make up random myths about him and learns to embrace it over the years.

* was a priest in his original human life, deflected from the church after the horrifying death of a childhood friend.

* formed the troupe after deflecting along with a few friends. fell in love with one of the nuns who left with him but she was killed, rebuked god after and mysteriously (i still can’t think of a good way for him to turn tbh) became a vampire.

* can be in the sunlight, but he chooses not to.

* vampire!chrollo was actually incredibly stupid and made nonsensical choices after being turned into a vampire, i have a headcanon that vampires aren’t the smartest after being turned bc a lot of their brain cells die out and take years to recover. he’s grown from that after centuries of being undead but he still regrets choices he’s made.

* has a collection of rosaries his ex lover made for him in life. wears a different one each day despite it being a representation of god.

* still puts flowers on her tombstone and regularly speaks to her. he knows he won’t get a response, but it’s the easiest way for him to grieve.

* kalluto, a local village boy, would sometimes sneak into chrollo’s castle out of boredom. chrollo tried to scare him away on a few occasions but he realized Kalluto meant no harm. decided to let him visit whenever once he realized how neglected he was by his family. eventually turned kalluto when he showed up one evening bleeding to death; it was out of mercy. hasn’t turned anyone else since and he has no intentions of it.

[0asisbliss]

Yan!Vampire!Phantom Troupe that takes turns with you. Not only just with sex, but you go over their houses. You’re mostly at Chrollo’s place due to him claiming you as his lover, but you occasionally stay at Shalnark, Nobunaga, Uvogin, and Phink’s place. Even though this is the case you adore going to Pakunoda’s place. Her and Chrollo by far have the nicest and cleanest places to stay. Nastiest places being Uvogin, and Feitan’s.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Title: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: He's going to kill you--and this is how you react? Curious, curious, curious.

For Horrorfest request:

Vampire! Chrollo could be interesting? He fits the image of a vampire well, with his inclusion of religious imagery, goth aesthetic and his personal search for his self (his “soul“). Perhaps he becomes interested in one of his would-be meals, being attracted to their humanity and their perspective on his vampirism (maybe them seeing it as a curse, not a boon)

Word count: 1565

notes: yandere, vampire, some descriptions of blood, mild wounds, dying; Chrollo is a pretentious asshole even as a vampire

Humans are so very interesting. And so very predictable.

Chrollo Lucilfer knew the first truth at an early age. He has learned the second truth over the years, the decades, and then the centuries. 

For instance, humans always seek comfort. That is certain, whether they are rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly. They want to be held and warm and fed; they want someone to comfort them when they cry; they want to be told that, in the end, things will be alright.

This is true even for the humans that he kills, for so often in their last moments, they cling to him, desperate, wanting him to be their savior even as he is the one draining their blood. 

Therefore, it does not surprise him too terribly when your shaking arm reaches up for his face; when your increasingly exhausted expression takes in the sight of him, eyes wide, looking for kinship or absolution or someone to tell you it will be just fine.

It takes his victims some time to really comprehend what is happening, after all.

It is usually at this point that (if they haven’t already--not everyone is so slow on the uptake) they realize what he is--vampire--and he goes back to lapping at his victim’s blood, enjoying the way their muddled dying thoughts are spiked with a renewed bright acidic terror. 

The taste is not his only reward. There is the entertainment, as well. The thoughts of the dying. 

The thoughts come to him like moving pictures, flashes; not only visuals but sometimes words. Monster. Him, covered in blood. I don’t want to die. Lovers, children, things left unsaid. Mother. This word, so common, most often paired with the foggy memory of a chubby hand held in a larger one.

Your eyes widen after a moment and ah, there it is. Like a clock. “Vampire,” you mouth, lips that were perhaps once rose-red now growing paler, the more he blood he takes from you. 

“Yes,” he breathes, and you make the softest of sounds when he nudges your head back with his hands, giving him access to the open, bruised weeping puncture wounds he’d created earlier. Your blood still flows freely enough, and he laps at the edges before he begins to suck from the wounds. 

He wonders how he must look from your eyes, though he may see it soon enough. His pale skin and dark hair. The fangs jutting from his mouth. The blood on his lips. Even his clothing, silken black with delicate lace. A storybook vampire, he supposes; all that’s missing is the smell of dirt and decay, though that is perhaps a stench better left to his more unhinged colleagues than his own delicate scent of roses and musk; purloined perfume bottles were easy to come by when you could simply kill the ones who set them on varnished bureaus. 

But what pulses through his mind is not pure abject horror at the sight of him or fleeting, terrified thoughts of a life that will be incomplete.

Instead, it’s something that startles him so fiercely that he yanks himself away from your neck:

Pity.

Pity, pity, pity. For him--for him! 

A warm almost sour sensation lingers behind on his teeth, and he licks it away. He has never, in his centuries of killing, been… pitied. 

Your head rolls a little to the side, eyelids drooping, but you gain enough awareness to realize that he’s no longer feeding on you. Your voice is a soft croak when you do speak, words spoken as if you don’t understand why you’re even permitted to say them at all. You should, after all, be dead. 

“Why did you stop?”

He considers you for a moment. He keeps a grip on your shoulders--you might just fall, if he lets go--and makes you face him. Finally, he mirrors your question. But only to satisfy his curiosity, or so he tells himself. 

“Why do you pity me?”

Your eyes widen again, but this time not in the realization of the monster before you. You likely don’t know how he felt your pity. He doesn’t care to explain it to you, either, and after a few moments you furrow your eyebrows.

If he weren’t feeding on you, it might be a cute expression. Perhaps it still is; even lambs to the slaughter can have their charms.

“You’re…��� You swallow. “You’re a vampire,” you say. But that usual horror is replaced with something else, something Chrollo wants to stick his finger into and pull out so he can see it more fully. Pity, yes yes, but something more. What is it? And why do you feel it so strongly that he couldn’t stand the shock of it?

When he doesn’t respond, you continue. 

“You have to kill people to survive.”

He snorts. 

“That’s never given me pause before.”

And oh, the way you look at him is absolutely beautiful. Your eyes glisten with tears--not from the pain, surely, but for him?--and your lips, nearly colorless though they are, curl into a pretty pout. 

“But it should, and I’m so sorry it doesn’t.” 

You wince, the shock perhaps ebbing away, letting you feel the pain of your ripped flesh more fully than most of his victims have time to do. But you don’t even press your hands to the wound, and he likes you better for it.

But still. You pity him because he’s a killer? What a waste of the emotion. 

“I have lived for centuries,” he tells you, speaking as if to a child, learning lessons at a father’s knee. “I have seen things your mortal mind could not comprehend. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, seen civilizations turn to dust.”

He can practically see the cogs in the clock of your mind turning. Perhaps you will be one of those who foolishly asks him for the gift. He has rarely given it, and he wouldn’t give it to you; but he wouldn’t tear you apart for the audacity as he has some others. Your death would be merciful, calm--you’ve earned that. 

But when you speak again, you don’t ask him to make you into a vampire.

“But you must be so lonely.” Your words are sudden, fast. Perhaps you don’t realize you’ve said them until it’s too late to wonder if you’re being too presumptuous, because you stumble over your next words. Or perhaps you’re just that emotional over the thought of him, and wouldn’t that be a delightful novelty?

“Everyone around you dies… your-your family. Friends.” You shake your head, blinking as a few tears finally do drop from your eyes. “You can’t live a normal life… you can’t go out in the sun.” You look up, as if you’re imagining the warm feel of it on your skin.

It’s a sensation he has long since forgotten, but to you it must be as normal as breathing. “I-I can’t imagine how sad that must be. To never be truly warm. To not see the flowers reaching up to the sky or see the grass in the morning, all green and dewy.”

Your arms, no longer trembling, wrap around your chest. 

“I just…” You don’t look at him when you say these last words, but you don’t really need to, do you? Not with the way your voice is choked with emotion, the way tears fall so prettily from your eyes. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you.” 

You are a wonder, truly. Bleeding from the neck, no doubt light headed from blood loss, in the face of a nocturnal creature who moments ago was draining the life from your body… and you apologize to him?

When you live for centuries, you often lose the ability to be surprised. But here is that sensation, now queer, once again. And all because you happened to take an unfortunate shortcut through the park on this night, making yourself easy prey for him to pull into a darkened alley and feast. 

Now, though, he finds his hunger satiated. Or at least satiated until he finds another victim. Someone less worthy to stay alive than yourself, of course. 

After some consideration, he leans backward, and releases his grip on you. His hands ache for the warmth of your skin underneath him, and not for the usual voracious reasons. 

Yet another curiosity to add to his growing list. 

You look at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Perhaps, if he weren’t who he was, he might feel it too--this feeling of pity. Because you have no idea what he intends to do, and what it will mean for him to keep you alive now. 

You have no sense of the impulsive need that has rooted itself in his brain, a need he hasn’t felt since he was a young fledgling of a vampire. He wants to know you; know what you think and why you think it.

What life has created you so earnestly that you can feel genuine sympathy for a creature like him? Have you known hardship, and it was an impulse to sympathize? Or has your life been so unmarred by difficulty that the pty came easily to you, pure, sweet thing? 

The most important question of all, he thinks, as he pulls you closer to him and shushes the soft sounds you make--

Will you continue to pity him once he has taken you for his own? 

[likethecolorblog]

That's my girl... MY WOMAN

⚠️: no Smut, but I had it on the Hashtag if you want pt2, Toxic relationship , Fem Pov, ex-boyfriend, non-con

(Wanna say English is not my first language so I do the best I can, I hope you guys like it and that I tryna to improve more my writing and my imagination, please like and any advices would be welcome♡♡)

It was a cold night and I was freaking freezing outside, what the fuck I was thinking going out with strapless shirt, it was supposed to be a hot night I saw it in the weather in my phone, How naive I was. Whatever after I was with the girls gossiping about everything what happened with us the past months I return to my warm house, my sanctuary.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

I got surprise cause I didn't even close the door well when someone start knocking

"Yes?, Who is it?" Raise a little my voice so the other person could heard it in the other side.

"Just open the door" a deep voice I heard I got goosebumps, I open the door and my ex was there "the fuck you are doing here? I told you WE.. ARE.. OVER"

He just walk inside like the house was his "saw you on the café today with the girls and that boy" he look at me and I rolled my eyes "and?... I can fucking talk to anyone I want" he smirks "nah... you cant"

Before I could walk back he hold my  back and push me to himself to kiss me, I wanted to fight back but, I couldn't I hate myself for being so weak for him

"Yeah that's right" he whispered between kisses "That's my girl, that's my woman right there" with a slap in my ass and a moan leaving my mouth he took me to my room.

_______________________________

[effei-s]

sometimes i'm in the mood for torturing myself, so i go and rewatch wolf's rain.

[heavenlyakin]

Literally giggling and kicking my feet writing violence in this fic like ?? send help!

[littlemebui]

currently writing some Chrollo x Silva VampireAU inspired by interview with the vamp

anyone interested in reading it when its done?

[effei-s]

So far the most annoying 'argument' I've seen was "she's so shallow and dumb, HE WOULD NEVER!!!"; blocked that person immediately.

p.s.: i can give you 2023830948340 reasons why kurapika might despise and hate neon but shallow and dumb won't be on that list.

Remember, shipping a mlw ship also means having to read daily:

“Platonic soulmates”

“Besties”

“Their friendship”

“Gay besties”

“Mlm and wlw solidarity/hostility”

“They're like siblings”

“They hate each other”

“A man with a woman? 🤮”

“Can't a man and a woman be friends anymore?”

“This is homophobic” (without confirmation of the sexuality)

“Boring ship”

[yanderenightmare]

The Four Seasons as Boyfriends

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ TW: nsfw and fluff, really soft yandere, if yandere at all

♡ GN reader

Autumn is always half awake but never fully asleep. 

In the morning, he likes pairing coffee with a smoke out on the balcony—standing shirtless, black tattoos on his pale skin, despite the cold wind, watching the sun rise, sporting tousled hair and dark sunken eyes. 

He spends his days more or less the same way. There’s a briskness in the breeze and rain every other day, and all the leaves have turned shades of brown and orange, matting the ground in wet heaps, leaving the trees to look like skeletons. He likes going for short walks just before the sun goes down, when the sky is a warm pink and there ain’t a soul to be seen, and it feels like the two of you are the only people who’ve stayed behind before the apocalypse came.

At night, he’ll stay up late, watching Halloween movies with you in his arms, drinking something stronger than coffee, and smoking something different than cigarettes. He’ll never flinch when the gory scenes play. He’ll just run his thumb up and down your arm and hold you close with a low chuckle.

He’s a quiet guy who spends his time observing more than talking, a real philosopher, writing down things on this old typewriter he has, anything from crime novels to other horrific things. He’s somewhat grim that way—you think he might have been a mob boss in his previous life. 

But he’s got this dry-humored side as well, and a romantic one too—one that whispers awfully heart-gripping things to you in bed, gives you small gifts on all your anniversaries. Half-mast dark eyes without a smile on his lips, bringing your palm up for a kiss. 

Maybe it wasn’t a past life, you think, maybe he’s a vampire who’s been plenty of things. Come to think of it, you’ve only ever seen him outside when the sun has been safely hidden behind a veil of grey clouds. You don’t know, he just seems like he’s come from another age in the way he’ll treat every day like something to be enjoyed slowly, every moment together to be savored, and every detail of your face something to be not just remembered but cherished.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Megumi, Toji, Yuuta, Choso, Higuruma ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Tomioka, Genya ♡ HxH – Chrollo, Illumi, Feitan

Winter wants to spend all his days inside, wrapped up with you in bed like a bear in hibernation. You have to all but fight your way out of his hold in order to get up. 

He groans when you leave, whimpering at the cold, but eventually, he musters up enough willpower to follow you. He’ll have the duvet wrapped around him still, slippers padding towards the smell of breakfast. He’s still sleepy until he gets a good, warm cup of chocolate coffee. 

Clad in a warm blue sweater, pilled from wear, but cozy still, and a pair of baggy corduroys and fuzzy socks in all sorts of colors. 

He’s super reluctant about leaving the house—will literally find any excuse not to and do anything to avoid having to. He’ll stand in the mudroom with you like an obstinate brat as you dress him, putting on his scarf, hat, and gloves for him before pulling him into his jacket. 

He’s pouty at first, whining about his nose freezing, but after a while, he gets more than happy-go-lucky in the snow. Acting just like a dog, bounding about, tackling you down, and rolling around with you so that you’re both sure to catch a cold. 

You build a snowman together, make angels, and a little igloo where he’s deadset on the two of you sleeping tonight. Yeah, not likely, is all you think, knowing him and how the minute the two of you get home, he’s going to hunker down with all the duvets and blankets he can find and cry about how he’s never going outside again. 

And sure enough, the two of you trudged home, freezing cold and exhausted from all the frivolity, he in a whiny mood. You enter the shower together, and he just stands there, arms around you, draping you with his entire body under the water, defrosting. 

Like before, you end up doing things for him. Shampooing the sweat out of his hat-hair and soaping the rest of him up, then doing yourself the same way.

He’s just as clingy when you’re done. Dressed in fluffy robes, he’ll hold you close on his lap and put on a Christmas movie, something funny, something for children, The Grinch or Home Alone, or a romcom you’ve watched a thousand times before.

He’ll eat gingerbread men instead of dinner, drink one too many cups of eggnog, and tell you how he wants to curl up inside your heart where it's nice and toasty and stay there forever—meanwhile, his hand explores your naked body under your robe.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Toaya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Hinata, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma, Zenitsu ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Spring is an early bird. Big breakfast spreads every day, wild flowers on the table in a hand-painted coffee mug, toasted bread with a dozen types of spreads, sliced meat, cheese, scrambled eggs, different jams, strawberry, peach, blueberry, apricot, raspberry, and all the currants.

He’s always got a big goofy smile on his face, wearing baggy dongeries and bright pastel-colored T-shirts—green, pink, yellow, and blue. His hair is fluffy, his eyes are round, and he’s always got a new pair of suede sneakers on.

He’d make a great dad, having the personality of a guy who’s a kindergarten teacher, the way he’s all about DIY easter decorations. He has his own craft cart, fully equipped with different colored paper, patterned tape, and glitter in all pretty colors.

He’s never been a very traditional guy, always raving about new ideas, dreams he’s had, things he’s seen when scrolling through Pinterest—you can't hope to keep up...

Your walls have all been painted—not like other walls—but as if the wallpaper were canvas. All your chairs have been bought at yard sales and other second-hand stores, refurbished by him, and hand-painted in different colors with cushions in different fabrics. Your coffee table is an old wine crate he found at a junkyard. All your blankets are knitted with spare yarn from all his other projects.

He also scrapbooks like no other, filling the pages with receipts and tickets he’s saved from your outings and vacations, and Polaroid pictures he’s taken of you, with dates and locations written along the white bottom.

Not to mention, how in the kitchen window, he’s hung the empty egg husks from breakfast, decorated with swirls and dots, with letters spelling Happy Easter!

He also makes you love letters—indulgent paragraphs with an overwhelming amount of love-bombing and hopes and dreams about your future together, always with the wording of a five-year-old child talking about their favorite type of food. 

Yeah, he’s no poet, but it’s the thought that counts, and so A for effort!

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei, Umemiya

Summer is tan with tan lines from his swimming trunks. He’s all smiles and loud laughter, too careless for shades and sunscreen, and so you’re the one who’s left running after him when he sprints towards the water, like a parent, shouting at him to put on some protection.

He filled the cooler up with sodas and beers before you left home, and has brought along firelighters, making a bonfire on the sand for grilled fruits, vegetables, and meats, so that the two of you can spend the day.

His hair is sun-damaged and bleached with saltwater, but he makes it look good with his freckled face, looking as though he lives on the beach. He’ll go in the water several times, never tiring.

He likes to promenade in flip-flops like he’s on constant vacation,  always shirtless, letting his swim-trunks dry while the two of you walk along the shore as the sun gets low, giving you his sweater once the air gets a little chilly. Making plans for how you can fill the rest of the summer. 

He’s got never-ending ideas, you don’t think you’ll have time for it all—hiking, biking, camping, festivals, outdoor movies, picnics, farmers markets, berry picking, kite flying, ice cream, gardening, going diving, sailing, fishing, hot air balloons, parachuting, bungee jumping, skydiving—yeah, his ideas get progressively more extreme as he goes.

But at home, when he’s all drained out from the sun, he’s a quiet presence. Warm still, but calm, lining up pretty seashells and dried-up corals along all the windowsills, before the two of you hit the shower. Washing off salt and sweat, and about a bucket's worth of sand that remains between the cracks in the tiles.

He’ll leave kisses against your neck and shoulder, murmur things in a voice you don’t recognize from the day, but a grainier one belonging to the night, telling you all the dirty things he’s going to do to you now that the sun’s fully down.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira, Shido ♡ WB – Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[oddeyechrollo]

Prisonic Fairytale (1) Ptolemaea

Synopsis: Chrollo cannot reform the church as he’s always dreamed of, and takes matters into his own hands after saving a nun from her premature death.

Warnings: religious symbolism (duh), acts of violence, death, murder, sacrilege, cannibalism, religious ignorance, major character death, typical phantom troupe shenanigans, mentions of animal deaths, angst. Minors dni.

Word count: 15k. major thank you to my beloved @nerosero-requiem for beta reading :3

A vampire is a creature in love with his own desolation. He grips what he has lost like a shield. In the labyrinths of a castle abandoned by tenderness, you can find him roaming, silent and voluptuous, head lowered, thirsting his unquenchable thirst, tormented by the memory of something that might never have happened. Carmilla, the vampire of Sheridan Le Fanu, as well as the elusive Nosferatu, know it all too well: there is a greatness one attains by braving the foul weather of anomaly. In eternal night, suffering can be a homeland.

“I know you’re there.”

No response, not even a single breath- not that his underling needs oxygen anyway. Chrollo sighs heavily. He doesn’t want to play games tonight, even if he is the cause for the boy’s stunted maturity. 

“Come out, dear. I know you’re just curious.” He calls out once more. He hears delicate footsteps crunch against the snow on the graveyard's ground. Chrollo places the bouquet of white orchids on a well polished tombstone, turning his neck around to make eye contact with his apprentice. “Good evening, Kalluto. Did you visit your brother today?” Chrollo makes light conversation, despite the grim setting. 

It still unsettles Kalluto when Chrollo twists his neck like an owl, but he makes no comments on that. It’s fitting for his leader anyway. 

“I did. It’s Killua’s 29th birthday. He didn’t pay me much attention though, they never do. I think they’ve grown accustomed to my condition, but it doesn’t change the fact that they see me in a different light. I guess it doesn’t matter, father’s always preferred Killua over me.” He grumbles, sitting next to the keeper of the castle. 

“I fear it’s our destiny to be ignored by our fathers will, isn’t it?” Chrollo comments, looking back to the tombstone before them. 

“I thought you didn’t have a father?” Kalluto asks. He looks at the tombstone too, but he doesn’t understand the language written on it. Only two dates from hundred of years ago. 

“The lord was my father once, and look at where that got me.” He chuckles darkly, rubbing onto the beads of the rosary he wore. 

“Can I ask you who this is? I can’t read that.” Kalluto says, wiping some of the snow off the stone. Chrollo doesn’t respond immediately, instead he closes his eyes and thinks deeply, solemnly. 

“She was someone I lost in my quest for the church’s redemption, someone who I admired greatly, who I should have listened to.” A tear falls down his eye, but Kalluto doesn’t comment on it. Chrollo whispers her name, your name once before he clears his throat. “She knew, she knew of the circumstances but I was human, I was foolish. She’s the one who made me this,” Chrollo raises the rosary up for Kalluto to admire. “No one can make them the way she could. Her devotion to God was incomparable to anyone else’s, she was simply too good for this world.” He laments. 

“Can you tell me about her? She sounds interesting.” Kalluto replies. Chrollo doesn’t want to speak of you right now, but the vampyrling is far from understanding something like that. 

Admittedly, Chrollo killed off many of his brain cells the night Kalluto came to him drenched in blood and pain. He couldn’t help himself, he’d grown too fond of the young boy and transformed him on the spot. A side effect that most wouldn’t understand of the vampyric process is how utterly stupid they are within the first few years of transition. It would explain how aggressive and hedonistic they are, but they would grow out of it like Chrollo did. Kalluto was no different, Chrollo made sure to keep the boy under his stern watch the first ten years after he made the switch from human to vampire. He’s better now, but emotionally, he has many more trials to go through. 

Although he's never cared to ask why Chrollo comes down here every night, perhaps the boy is finally leaning into his emotional curiosities. Hell, Kalluto didn’t even ask why the troupe members show up or why he gathers food for some of them beforehand. Maybe this would be good for him. 

“I used to be a priest long before God made me the demon I am before you.” Chrollo begins. 

-

Chrollo halts at the metal gates separating him from his new home: Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. It was a peculiar place, unlike the monastery in his own hometown. Chrollo gazes at one of the few double monasteries in the country; a safe haven for both women, men, and children under the Lord’s protection. The door of the main church opens, it’s quite the handsome structure, he takes note of the glass stains in the front windows, he’ll have to check the rest of them soon for intricate designs. Two men and a nun exit the exquisite building as he waves to them.

“Hello! I’m Priest Chrollo! I was sent in from Meteor City.” He smiles with pride; the head priest himself had sent him off after his two year stay under his leadership. The nun doesn’t budge, but the men smile at him and head over to the gate.

“My! Thank the Lord for your safe travels, allow me to open the gate, Forgive the tight security, this forest is filled with unholy beings,” a short, bald man says as he grabs a ring filled with multiple, unique keys. He grabs the largest one and places it into the lock, swiftly removing the chains from the gates. “Come in, come in! We’re honored to host a priest that’s been widely respected by one of our sister churches. We’ll take your belongings to the monastery, it’s right over here past the gardens.” The taller man says, but Chrollo gives him a look of concern. 

“Nonsense, I’ll carry my luggage myself, it has wheels on the bottom, see?” Chrollo grabs ahold of his bag and quickly rolls it to demonstrate its usefulness. “Technology is absolutely fascinating! Who knows what the next generation of geniuses will create!” Chrollo beams at the men, following the tall one towards a small pebbled path as the short man locks the gates once more. “What may I refer to you as?” He asks, bowing his head at the two men. 

“My, so humble! We didn’t expect a big shot like you to behave so. Father Elroy was an old friend of mine, you see. He came here before heading off to your monastery, but I'm sure he’s told you all about that. He praised you heavily in the letters he’s sent to us, but forgive me! I ramble a lot. I’m father Genma, and this is Father Angus. I’ve served our Lord for over ten years here, and Angus has 30 years of experience here!” Genma prides himself in his work, clearly. Chrollo can see why; the grounds are kept in a loving condition that makes it the haven it is. The flowers are well in bloom, the buildings look well kept, and even the paths look orderly, as if every pebble has a place. 

“I’m eager to learn more from you both, as well as everyone else in your community.”

-

The double monastery has an interesting layout: there are the men’s sleeping quarters on one side of the church and on the other is the women’s side, as well as the orphans who reside here. There is a large dining room behind the church as well as a shared living quarters for everyone that has several couches and tables. Father Genma says they often play games together as a family there, or have music nights. Chrollo adores the gardens that lay behind the sleeping quarters. There’s a wooden playground for the young children and a gazebo where vines grow around the top. 

“Let’s announce your arrival to the priest and nuns! They’ve all been so eager to hear updates on you.” Angus pipes in as he enters Chrollo’s new quarters. Chrollo shakes his head and laughs. 

“It’s alright, if you don’t mind I’d like to observe for now. I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone’s routines.” He explains, putting the last of his robes into the wardrobe behind him. “If anything I’ll introduce myself at supper, if that’s fine.” Chrollo insists. He’s here to help the people, not disturb their day to day lives. 

“Of course! Do you have any dietary restrictions? One of our sisters is a master chef, she grows the most wonderful fruits and vegetables in existence and bakes them in ways unknown to humanity,” says Genma, rubbing his stomach at the thought. 

“The children adore her, she’s a novice nun who came to us several years ago as a child.” Angus adds. 

“It’ll be a pleasure to eat her delicacies. I do not have any restrictions, thank you for asking, Father.” Chrollo confirms and smiles. 

“Right, we’ll leave you to your own devices then. The dining hall and kitchen are right behind the church, we have a few signs posted if you lose your way,” Angus says as he closes the door to Chrollo’s humble bedroom. 

There isn’t much decor, just a simple cross, wardrobe, bed, and nightstand. Chrollo grabs the last piece from his luggage: a picture of his beloved sister, Sarasa, from early childhood. He places it on his nightstand, admiring the painting as he’s done every evening of his life. “I’ll make you proud,” he whispers to her picture, beaming back at her own eternal smile. “You wouldn’t believe the journey from Meteor City, I’ll explain it all after dinner, I promise. I’ll be back, Sarasa!” He waves at the image and opens his bedroom door, ready to explore the community he’s so eager to learn about. 

-

Chrollo’s always been a silent man, his footsteps rarely make any noise, and he’s been known to surprise people with his appearance alone. He watches as children play on some swings under the watchful gaze of a few nuns. He turns to the side, his ears picking up some sort of commotion near the kitchen. 

A boy has knocked over what seems to be glass, and from the looks of it, he’s afraid. The same old nun that came out of the church when Chrollo arrived hasn’t seen him, but she will in due time. Would he pick up the pieces? They seem far too risky to pick at without a broom, anything he did would leave him bloodied and hurt. 

The nun arrives, a look of displeasure written on her face. “What in God’s name did you do this time, Luther?! My goodness, you know to be careful around the kitchen! God knows how many glasses you’ve ruined by running around here!” She scorns, grabbing ahold of the child harshly. He’ll be hit, it’s what older nuns believe in anyway. It’s not his own value, but one of the Church that Chrollo simply could not change. Not in this lifetime. The nun already has a bamboo rod in hand, but before she gets the opportunity to strike, the door opens to the kitchen. 

 A nun, and judging from her robes, she’s a novice.You must be the one the fathers speak of. 

“Sister Adelene, I was the one who dropped the glass, I merely asked Luther to make sure no one else steps on it while I retrieved the broom.” You smile at her, putting yourself in front of the black haired boy and the crone despite the grip she holds onto him. 

“Huh?! Then why didn’t he say so?!” She rebutes, holding onto her rod. 

“My goodness, Sister Adelene! You hold a rod in your hand, the poor boy was probably shaken at the sight of it alone! It’s not as if Luther’s ever been a verbal child. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this myself.” You assure. The nun lets go of the boy and continues her walk along the grounds until she’s out of sight. The boy engulfs you in a hug, letting a few tears out in the process. 

“Be careful, Luther. Oh! Here’s the broom by the way. Be a dear and sweep it up, will you? I’ll give you a treat, but don’t tell the others!” You giggle, going back inside to grab a broom. The boy nods eagerly, sweeping up the glass and putting it on a dustpan as he follows you inside to the kitchen. The kitchen itself has no glass on the windows, and Chrollo moves closer to hear the conversation. 

“… she means well in her own way, my dear. It’s just a cup in my opinion, but that doesn’t mean she shares the same feelings too. Alright, do you want an apple or pomegranate? You didn’t have breakfast either, so you have to pick one of them!” The nun insists. The boy never speaks, only points at things and bows to you. You hand him a green apple and he begins to chew on it. 

“Go out behind the women’s sleeping quarters and eat it on the bench by the birdbath, no one patrols there.” You instruct him and he nods, leaving the kitchen and running off on his own. Chrollo observes the boy as he hides the apple in his shirt, running out towards the women’s dormitory. 

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Your voice scares Chrollo, he didn’t think he’d be caught! He turns over to you, sticking your head out the window. Your face has no ill intentions, only mere curiously. He gathers his senses before responding to you.

“I’m Chrollo! The new priest sent in after Father Lenor’s death, God bless his soul.” He answers, rubbing the bottom of his sleeves out of anxiety. 

“Oh, nice to meet you,” you smile at him. You give him your name in return and go back inside of the kitchen, but he moves to look directly inside the kitchen now. 

“You lied to that nun,” he whispers, but you don’t falter in your cooking. You merely continue to cut up carrots and shrug. 

“That I did, and I’d truly appreciate it if that secret died with us and God.” You reply, not giving him any attention still.

“That isn’t the issue, my question is, why did you?” He asks. “Forgive me, I’ve always been a curious man fascinated by human nature.” He explains. 

“What’s a greater sin in your eyes? To strike at a child or to lie for their safety? Would I be helping Sister Adelene’s soul by allowing her to hurt someone who’s too timid to even speak?” You answer your own question with more questions, what a woman.

“We’re human, we’re all bound to sin and make mistakes, but we can always help one another to make better choices. Sure, I lied, but Adelene didn’t hurt a child. Nothing a little confession won’t fix.” You shrug. Chrollo laughs in astonishment, what an interesting human!

“I’ll be the one you’re confessing to now, I’m eager to hear what other sins you’ve committed in due time,” Chrollo beams at you.

You look up at him again, half smiling. “You’re in for the time of your life, Father Chrollo.” 

-

“Something that I’ve learned in my time under Father Elroy is a new meaning, nay, beginning to our relationship with God and Christ himself. Christ was a man that understood everyone, not just a select few. The outcasts of our society are to be respected, to be loved and cared for as much as you or I. That is the true meaning of Christianity and Catholicism as a whole. We accept humility, but have forgotten that Christ helped all, one lost sheep at a time.” Chrollo’s voice booms throughout the church as he stands by the altar. 

“What do we gain by turning a blind eye to those we consider beneath us? What do we gain by turning away a sinner who’s lost their faith? We, my friends, gain nothing. Do not judge he, for not even Christ did.” Chrollo doesn’t miss a few eye rolls throughout the church, that’s alright. Catholics are strict in their beliefs, he can’’t win them all immediately. “We are not holier than an adulterer, a prostitute, the drunkards, the lame, the lepers, the nonhuman. They deserve redemption as much as you. Thank you, it’s been an honor to speak to you all at my first mass here.” Chrollo concludes, searching for his little nun in the crowd. The orphans present applaud him, the nuns and friars clap out of mere obligation, but the older crowd… therein lies the problem. 

A few children go up to him and express their gratitude, as well as a friar or two. Many exit out immediately, having duties to attend to before the day ends. Chrollo goes back to the altar to place the body of Christ back into its compartment when he hears someone clear their throat. 

“Father Chrollo,” you speak gently, earning a smile from the priest. “Your sermon today… It truly spoke to my soul. Forgive the elderly here; Father Lenor appealed to them more, but I’m grateful that the children have an outstanding role model to look up to.” You confess with a glint in your eyes. “I’ve never heard someone speak such beautiful words.” 

Chrollo can’t help but to smile, feeling a warmth spread throughout his chest at your compliment. “Thank you,” he whispers, “it means the world to know I have an impact on at least one person.” He admits, coming down from the altar and next to you. 

“I’m sure you’ve greatly touched more than just I in your lifetime, but I’ve never heard anyone speak something that pulls at my heart so deeply.” God bless your soul, Chrollo would melt if he heard another compliment from the darling nun. 

“From the bottom of my heart, thank you Sister.” He expresses. 

-

As a young lad, Chrollo witnessed the death of his sister on a night much like this one. Sarasa was an adventurous child, and enjoyed climbing trees to look at the moon. A single misstep led to her neck being cracked, and she never breathed again. Chrollo sobbed for months as he mourned over her loss, but decided to live for her. He would dedicate his life to loving every breath he takes, to love Christ just as she did. 

Consequently, he struggles to sleep at times which leads him to go on midnight strolls until his mind allows him to rest. He’d read a book, but unfortunately for him his lantern was out of oil. 

He’s been here for two months now, and a few nuns and friars had taken a liking to him now. Sister Adelene was simply “just like that,” as one of the children stated. During this time, he’s only ever seen a few friars out patrolling and they share quick conversations, but Chrollo never saw the point in explaining his past to them. He simply used insomnia as an excuse, which isn’t a lie either. 

Tonight, he is surprised to find you on the same stone bench you instructed Luther to eat an apple on. Your hair is exposed, and you are only wearing a simple, white nightgown without shoes. Your hands desperately rub onto a rosary bead, and judging from how far you are into the rosary, you’ll be finished soon. There are no words spoken, only silent prayer and tears as you sniffle. 

Chrollo waits until you finish, never the one to interrupt during a prayer. He begins another lap around the grounds, no one else is out now. It’s chilly, raising his concern for you. Why be barefoot? He doubts your sleepwalking, you’re praying and crying. What has unsettled his fellow lover of Christ?

Once he’s back to the bench, you’re no longer rubbing the beads but clutching onto the rosary itself. 

“Good evening,” he speaks, startling you. You look over at Chrollo and sigh in relief. He’s made an acquaintance of you, and it makes him happy to know that you don’t restrain yourself around him. “Mind if I sit?” He asks, pointing to the empty spot next to you. 

“Not at all.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes as it normally does. 

“I saw you praying earlier but I didn’t want to disturb.” Chrollo explains as he sits beside you, looking up at the full moon. “Are you alright?” Concern laces his voice as you sigh. 

“It’s- nothing. Just a nightmare.” You look away, hiding your face from him. 

“I like to think that you understand my soul enough to know that I’d never critique you.” Chrollo chuckles, and you look at him only for a moment. Will you speak your mind? Or will you turn him away?

“I’ve had a reoccurring nightmare since I was a child,” you begin, taking a shaky breath in. “But- but it’s become more vivid now. More detailed, longer the older I get.” Your eyebrows furrow. “I spoke to Father Lenor about it once, and he insisted that I was cursed! A few of the elders know since I’ve awoken them from screams in the night as well. ” You sigh, burying your face in your palms as more tears shed from your eyes. Chrollo places his hand on your back and rubs in small circles, not completely sure of how to make you feel better. “They judge me for it, I know they see me as an ill fortune.” You babble on. 

“May I ask the nature of this dream?” Chrollo inquires. 

You hesitate, not immediately answering but looking around instead. 

“I can’t describe who he is, but it isn’t human.” You begin. “I can't control my body, Nothing feels right, and everything aches. I can hear its voice whispering multiple things at once, he has a peculiar accent too, something I’ve never heard before.” You sigh, wiping the lonesome tears from your face. 

“What does it say to you?” Chrollo asks, placing a hand around your shoulder. 

“It varies, but tonight felt more realistic. Tonight… he told me something different. When it grabs me, it’s usually silent, only staring back with eyes I can’t fully comprehend. Everything about it is indescribable… This time he said…” you pause, grabbing hold of your legs as you clutch onto your knees, “‘sweet mourning lamb, you’ll come to know your God through a senseless act of violence.’ Then…. He strikes at me with its claws. He laughs at me, he relishes in the pain I feel. And I do feel it, every slash and every tear despite it being a dream. There’s blood all over my white dress but… he consumes me. My heart stops, but I can still see it all. He starts with my arms and eats away at my flesh. I can’t ever seem to wake up before this part of the dream either.” You sigh, finishing recounting your prisonic dream. 

Chrollo’s left speechless. How on earth is he supposed to respond? Surely he has to, lest he makes you feel misunderstood like the others. 

“Please don’t tell anyone!” You suddenly beg, looking directly at his face. “Lenor’s tried everything to make them go away, but nothing helps. The visions worsen as time passes and I can’t escape them. I’m truly at a loss for words…” you express. 

“With your permission, I’d like to write a letter to a friend back in my hometown explaining the situation. He’s an expert on these subjects, but only if you desire so.” Chrollo explains, thinking of Nobunaga. He was one of the first friends he made in the city, quite the noble man. Nobunaga experiences visions of his own, often predicting the future. 

“O-okay. But please don’t speak of it to anyone else. There’s only so much that the elders know. I myself can’t fathom what they’d do to me if they think I’m possessed.”

-

Chrollo watches as you meticulously roll tiny bits of rose clay into beads, sticking pins into each one before you place them in the sun. He’s offered to help, but you shooed him away stating ‘it’s a me activity, not a me and Father Chrollo activity,’ earning a chuckle from him. You were clearly passionate about your creations, so he decided it would be best to not disturb your process.

Last night you had awoken a few of the nuns with a scream. You insisted it was only a bug crawling on you, but Chrollo knew better. He won’t express it, but he knows they do too. He decided to stick around you, just in case. 

“So, what led you down the path you’re on?” You question, never looking away from the beads you roll. 

“It’s a bit of a somber story, if you don’t mind.” Chrollo admits as you shake your head. 

“I fear we’re on the same somber boat.”

“Well, in that case, I watched my sister die in front of me as a child. It was an accident, she fell from a tree late at night. She was dead the moment she fell.” You don’t look away from your work or slow down. “I promised myself that I would live on for Sarasa, and embrace God the way she did. She had a way of seeing the beauty in life that others couldn’t; and I aim to spread her message in this world.” Chrollo confesses. You let out a brief “hmm,” in response, finally looking up at him. 

“I know her soul looks down on you in love and content.” You give him a brief smile, looking back down to stab more needles into the beads. It’s not the typical response he earns upon revealing his past, but it’s one he feels comforted in. 

“And you?” He asks. “How did you end up as a nun?” 

“It’s not a fairytale either. My parents died in a house fire 6 years ago and I was sent to live here with the rest of the orphans. I tried to warn them that something wasn’t right, but they ignored me and assumed I was only being frightful. It's a shame, I think my mother would have liked you. She taught me how to make rosaries as a child.” You explain to him. No wonder you wouldn’t accept help from him!

“You tried to warn them of a fire? Forgive me, I’m confused.” Chrollo expresses. 

“Oh, I dreamt of it happening. The fire, the screams, all of it.” You add as if it were nothing, “I had that dream months before it happened though, but I did warn them the night of. Most people seem to ignore me when my premonitions only mean well.” You conclude. 

It seems this isn’t your first time experiencing clairvoyance, but it would be best he keep that to himself for now. The church doesn’t take kindly to the spiritually gifted. 

-

“Father Chrollo!” Your voice echoes through the dining room. It was his turn to set up the dishes and help clean today. He didn’t mind one bit, especially since you’re making his favorite stew. The bitter cold calls for the savory soups you wonderfully brewed. Chrollo turns his face to look at you, waving in excitement. “I have a gift for you.” You add, walking closer to his table. You pull out a black and red rosary from your hands, “I tried adding some dye to half of the clay since you like black, but unfortunately I didn’t have any purple with me. I hope you don’t mind the red.” you say with a kindness he’s never heard from another soul. Chrollo takes the rosary from you, observing the fine detail of your work. 

“This means the world to me, thank you Sister…” he gasps in awe. The cross is a bit fancier than the usual ones you add, had you been saving it for him? A part of Chrollo likes to think you did. 

“Of course! It came to my attention that I’ve never made one specifically for you, I do hope you like it.” You beam as you head back towards the kitchen. Chrollo places it in one of his pockets. Patting the spot with content as the necklace weighs down his robe. Bless your soul, bless your heart. 

-

“Nobunaga’s quite interested in your dreams, dearest Sister,” Chrollo brings up on a random morning while you’re both out supervising the children as they play. “He wants to meet with you one day, he says it’s rare to meet another soul with the gift of foresight. Had this been a different time or culture, you may have been a priestess.” Chrollo admits to you, whispering amongst the children. Luther clings to your side, but the boy is nonverbal and only chooses to speak what he can to you. He would never rat you out. It’s not as if Luther enjoys the company of other children either; they often mock him for his condition. 

“Except I’m a nun in training that most people disregard,” you sigh, rubbing Luther’s scalp. “It would explain why some of the forest creatures like me, but I don’t understand anything else about it.” You shrug. Chrollo gives you an odd look, you’ve never mentioned that before…

“What forest creatures do you speak of?” He asks, looking out of the gates. 

“Hm, as a child the centaurs back home would often play with me in the forest. Same with the forest nymphs, they adored me, but keep that between the two of us. The people in the monasteries dislike all magical beings.  There’s a local village nearby filled with witches that we could seek medical help from, but they all refuse. It’s a shame, I believe many of them trust in Christ as well, it’s just a different culture. We’ve… lost a few lives here because of it.” You sigh, looking away. This isn’t atypical of the church, especially that of Catholics. Does it surprise Chrollo? Absolutely not, but it saddens him to see your reaction anyway. 

-

“This is the third time she’s awoken screaming this month.”

“She’s cursed! We must get her out of here! Who knows what evil she carries within her soul?”

“This is our dearest sister we speak of, not a common witch of the woods. Your fear will-“

“Shut it, Genma! Your leniency will get us all killed. It’s the influence of the new priest, isn’t it? Speaking such blasphemy… I won’t have it. He’ll infect the children with such a liberal ideology.”

Chrollo listens carefully as the friars and nuns speak of you in the back of the church. He’s always been light on his feet — they don’t even notice him in the shadows cast by the candlelight. 

“That girl has been an ill fortune since she first came. The non stop screaming, the time she helped a satyr against our wishes, she probably caused the fire in her house! She may as well have killed her parents! Enough is enough.” That's definitely Adelyne, the crone’s voice was easily recognizable. 

“So you truly consider her cursed?”

“Even Priest Lenor, god rest his soul, thought so! She’ll bring nothing but bad luck to our home. Think of the orphans, she’s probably enchanting them with black magic..!” Another nun screeches. Chrollo listens as they murmur amongst themselves. The fools were easily swayed under fear, that was certain. 

“A witch? In our premise? We could do away with her, send her off to the local-“

“To the local village? Where she can train under Lucifer’s whores? She’d come back and kill us all! We’ll have to do what we did the last time we had a cursed child in our walls…”

Chrollo’s heard enough of their ignorance and mockery of the church. He needs to warn you, to help you, immediately. There were less than 15 members plotting your demise, but it would be enough to end you. 

-

Chrollo finds you in the usual spot under a new moon, praying to your rosary. Another nightmare, and he hates to interrupt but these circumstances aren’t the usual. 

He whispers your name as he runs closer to you, but you do not listen. You don’t flinch as he grabs hold of your body. 

“You need to leave. Immediately. They’re-“

“They want me dead. They want to set me ablaze on a pyre and do away with me. They all think I’m cursed.” You finish, rubbing the rosary beads still. It’s as if you look through him and not at him, thick tears slide down your face. “I dreamt of it. I saw their faces. They held you and a few of the children back, but I felt my body under the heat of the fire. I felt the pain, the agony, the betrayal of it all.” Your voice is cold and detached, startling the man before you. 

“It’s why you need to leave- dammit I’ll go with you!” 

“But what if I am cursed? I’ll only bring you suffering….” You finally look up at his face, but Chrollo won’t have it. 

“That doesn’t mean you deserve to die by the community that raised you and swore to help you, dearest sister. Please… they’re becoming hysterical, you must come with me!” Chrollo insists. He grabs ahold of your hand as he forces your body to rise with his. “They’ll check the women’s dorms first, I- I can’t bear to leave the picture of my sister behind. Is there anything you need to grab before we leave?” You shake your head, letting him lead you to the men’s dorms. From a distance, he hears a crowd as they make their way out of the church. The footsteps are loud, they’re going to your quarters… 

You and Chrollo run into his bedroom as fast as possible, he pockets the rosary you made and the image of Sarasa. 

“We need the keys. Angus has them in his room.” You whisper, entering the hallway and going across into the room from his own. 

“Good thing none of these lock.” He says in reference to the dormitory doors, grabbing the key ring on his table. 

“There’s a gate behind the men’s dormitories at the end of the hallway, let’s go.” You seem more yourself now, relieving Chrollo. He didn’t think he could manage this by his wits alone. 

-

The cold air is bitter, but you’ll live. Chrollo doesn’t know how long you two have been running for, but you find a stream as you almost fall on top of him. 

“I’m- I’m tired…” you pant out to him. “Can’t… can’t run… every- thing aches.” You manage to breathe out, clutching onto Chrollo’s arm for support. He’s exhausted as well, but Chrollo is much more athletic than you are. He swiftly grabs ahold of you and carries you bridal style into the woods. Your breathing was erratic, but he couldn’t risk stopping. He continues walking down the stream for now, he remembers on his way here there was a small inn… although he had no cash. He’d figure something out, as long as you live, that’s all that matters to him. 

“Chrollo? Is that you?” He quickly turns his neck around to see the familiar face of an old friend. 

“Nobunaga… What in God’s name are you doing here?” He lets out a sigh of relief. There are two women beside him, but he disregards them for now. 

“Your letter, a few dreams, and a witch’s intuition led me here tonight. Is this the girl you spoke of?” He walks towards you and Chrollo, noticing you were passed out from exhaustion. “That woman over there, Shizuku, she told me someone would wait for us at this stream tonight.” He points behind him. “She’s from Star Village, come follow us back. You can rest with us tonight. We brought a spare horse. Uh- you might wanna wake her though. It’ll be easier if she’s riding with you.”

-

You’ve been in a deep slumber for hours now, hopefully dreamless. Chrollo followed Nobunaga and the women back to the large village filled with witches and many magical beings. They’ve been residing in a brick house that belongs to one of Shizuku’s friends. 

Nobunaga explains that after reading his letter, he had a dream of you burning to death above a great pyre. He would have ignored it if he didn’t see Chrollo’s face within the crowd, and he made his way to the village. He’s been here for a month waiting for another vision, to no avail. Until last night, when he finally saw you both again running in the forest. 

“Shizuku here has visions, so long as she has an item of who she needs to see. I handed her the letter you sent and she told me to meet you there on the stream.” Nobunaga explains, drinking a cup of bitter coffee. 

“I did?” Shizuku pipes up, looking over at her long haired friend. 

“You did- she forgets all of her prophecies, but it doesn’t make her any less effective.” Nobunaga adds. “Ah! This is my wife by the way, Machi.” He says, introducing the pink haired girl. She gives a small wave but ultimately ignores you and Chrollo. 

“She’s kinder when ya get to know her.” He blushes, earning a grunt from his wife. 

Chrollo waves at Machi, then turns back to look at your sleeping figure. 

“Thank you all for helping us- I can’t express the gratitude I feel.” He admits, clearing your face of any hair strands. 

“She would have died without you, that’s all I know.” Machi chirps in. “Maybe fate needed you to be there to assure she didn’t die in a literal pit of hell.” Chrollo nods at her words, bitter but realistic. 

“The local monasteries kill anyone who they deem as wicked, it’s happened to a few of our residents here.  The one she belongs to hasn’t done so in ages, I doubt she’s old enough to remember, but I am.” Shizuku pipes in. 

“You don’t seem that old to me..?”

“I’m 89 years old.” Shizuku says bluntly, “I just don’t see a point in aging, so I don’t do it.” She shrugs. “Immortality isn’t logical, but I don’t intend on dying within the next 500 years or so, at least that’s what my notes from my visions tell me.”

“Your notes?” Chrollo asks. He’s never met a band of people as interesting as the ones in this group. 

“I don’t remember my predictions, the spirits that haunt me make sure of it. My friend Pakunoda makes sure to write my own personal predictions… Where'd she go anyway? I need to go back to my own home, I’ll see you guys in the morrow.” She concludes, standing up from a chair and exiting the living room. The rest say their goodbyes to her as she leaves, and Chrollo turns his attention back to Nobunaga. 

“How are you feeling?” Nobunaga asks him, but doesn’t receive an immediate response. 

“I… don’t know. I feel as if a part of me has lost faith in my own kind.” Chrollo admits defeatedly. “She’s nothing but a kind human who was misunderstood, yet they had the audacity to consider ending her life out of fear. It’s all over my faith… I don’t- I don’t know what to believe.” He sighs. “I used to think that I could change the church from the inside, that if I preached enough I could make them see the error of their ways; to be more accepting of others as Christ was himself. I can’t do shit.” Chrollo finishes, looking over at you once more. 

“You saved her at least, pat yourself on the back for doing what you believe is right. It’s not like you to be such a downer. I always knew you would be disappointed in the church one day,” Nobunaga admits, chuckling as he reminisces old memories with Chrollo. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find a different way to help others.” He shrugs. 

“… what he said.” Machi agrees, leaving for another room. 

“Seems my wife’s tired. Pakunoda owns this house, but she only has the single spare room for Machi and I. She won’t mind if you sleep on the spare couch though- sorry it’s not big.” Nobunaga says, standing up as he finishes his tea. 

“Get some rest, old friend.” He pats Chrollo on the back and walks out, leaving you two alone. 

Chrollo won’t rest tonight, that’s already out the window. Nobunaga is right, though… in his heart, he knows he wants to help those below him, he knows he wants to make a change for the better. If the church won’t help him achieve these goals, other means will be necessary. 

-

Hours later, you finally awake in confusion. Chrollo sits beneath you on the floor, staring at the picture of his sister, until you tap him on the shoulder. 

“Where are we?” You whisper to him. He turns around and beams at you, happy to see you alive and well. You sit up and slide down to the floor next to chrollo. 

“A bit of a long story, my dear. My old friend, Nobunaga, the one I wrote to in regard to your dreams, he knew where we were and took us back to Star Village. We’re at his friend's house, I just met her a while ago. She's in her bedroom resting now, along with Nobunaga and his wife.” Chrollo explains. 

“Star Village… that’s the one near the monastery, the village filled with magicians and creatures, yes?” You respond. “I know someone here… he was a sweet satyr I met years ago when I first moved to the monastery. His leg was bitten into by a werewolf so I healed him. They weren’t happy about it, but it didn’t feel right leaving him to die.” You remember, leaning your head against Chrollo’s shoulder. 

“I think I overheard the elders mentioning it last night. They did consider you an ill omen for it, but I can assure you you’re anything but.” Chrollo smiles reassuringly. 

“Why did you help me?” You bring up, “I couldn't even help myself in the moment, and you… you’ll be shunned from the church, Father!” Your eyebrows raise, looking over at him in worry. 

“Then I assume it’s best to call me Chrollo from now on. I’ve been thinking about it while you were asleep… It’s like you said about the satyr, it didn’t feel right leaving you to die.” He explains. You slowly nod your head. 

“What do we do now? I don’t think we should stay here for long, I don’t want to stay near that place anymore… how bitter, I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the children…” you trail off in melancholy. Chrollo grabs hold of your body, engulfing you in a hug. 

“Don’t worry… I’ve thought of it all.” He whispers into your ear. “But only if you wish to stay by my side, otherwise I can find a quiet town for you to live the rest of your days in.” Chrollo offers, but you shake your head. 

“No, I’ve never been safer with anyone else. I’ll stick by your side- no matter what.”

-

A year has passed since that fateful evening, and Chrollo was grateful for the new start. Sarasa would hopefully forgive him for his sins, but he hopes she understands the importance of his life’s work. 

Chrollo created the Spider, an organization that robs churches and the higher class in order to give to the outliers of society. Nobunaga and Machi joined immediately upon explanation of the organization, so did Shalnark the satyr, whom you saved once. He insisted that he wanted to give back to you in exchange for saving his life. Pakunoda and Shizuku joined later on when they realized how much the Spider had given back to Star Village, especially the younger children that reside there. The group doesn’t have a set home, only several bases spread throughout several countries. Many of the people they give to offer asylum in exchange for their help, shielding them from the crusaders of the church. 

Nobunaga and Pakunoda have trained you over the months, sharpening your discernment. Most of the time, the group evades arrest thanks to either your visions or Nobunaga. Pakunoda deals with memories, while Shizuku only needs an object to get information out of someone they wish to rob. Machi’s an excellent healer, but could also kill a man with needles if needed. The group currently resides in an abandoned church in a nearby country to your home that’s dense with forest and creatures you’ve never heard of. 

Tonight, Chrollo met with the newest member of the Spider: Uvogin. He has no desire to learn of God or give to the needy, he’s simply a werewolf that enjoys disturbing the peace of the humans who once mocked and shamed him after his initial transformation. Chrollo could understand that; there’s no need in forcing his views down his throat. So long as he helps wreak havoc when needed, Uvogin will be happy. 

The rest of the group is currently awaiting his arrival at the church. You’re by the altar speaking to Pakunoda, Shizuku and Shalnark discussing the newest member while Nobunaga and Machi cuddle together in a corner by the entrance. 

“What if he bites me…” Shalnark’s voice is laced with anxiety as you try to reassure him. You can’t blame the poor thing, but you don’t doubt Chrollo’s judgement. 

“Not all werewolves are vicious like that! It’s a fear based on ignorance.” Pakunoda tries to calm the shaking satyr. His left hoove rapidly taps at the floor beneath him. 

“Shut up about ignorance! The fear was real when that son of a bitch bit into me!” He frowns. 

The front door opens. You turn to see Chrollo smiling at you with a large, burly man behind him. His hair is untamable and he wears scraps for clothing, but he seems eager. 

“Everyone, this is Uvogin. He’s been interested in meeting with us since we robbed the king of Padokea last month.” Chrollo explains, continuing his walk towards the main group. 

“Awesome! I’m not the only half human freak here!” Uvogin shouts, staring directly at Shalnark. “Nice to meet you all! Chrollo’s told me nothing but good things.” He grins. “But when do we start causin’ a ruckus?” He blurts out, staring at Chrollo now. 

“Patience, Uvogin. Nobunaga here has visions; he predicted that you would be at our next robbery, a smile shining as you carry the weight of gold around you.” Chrollo explains. “It’s why I sought you out as well.”

“Hell yes! Who’s Nobunaga? I’ll kill five men for you!” He roars as Nobunaga raises his hand. 

“That would be me, partner.” He responds with a lazy smile on his face. Nobunaga enjoys the werewolf’s energy, even if they were an untamable race. 

-

You’re good with a gun, but you don’t enjoy killing. Chrollo makes sure to shoot others down for you before you have the chance, and you’re grateful. None of the other members seem to mind death at their hands, and Chrollo lost his convictions on the matter long ago. He’s earned riches for the poor and anyone else he could consider in desperate need of them. Not just that, medicine, clothing, shelter, things not accessible to the outliers of society. He keeps a small portion of the money, but rarely has reason to use it. 

He watches as you stick dried rose beads onto string, one of the final steps of creating a rosary.  Chrollo often goes out searching for roses for you, bringing you bouquets just for you to turn them to clay. He doesn’t mind of course so long as you’re happy. 

“You think he’d get the message by now.” Nobunaga smirks, watching as his leader stares at the woman from across the church's long dead garden. Uvogin and Shalnark laugh, and so does the newest member of The Spider: Phinks. He’s a regular human who often dresses as a Pharaoh, makeup and all. His strength is ungodly; Chrollo’s certain he has some magical advantage but the man is an orphan. He wouldn’t know the answer without knowing his ancestral bloodline. 

“What do you mean?” Chrollo turns around to face the men behind him. All four of them look at Chrollo as if he were the stupidest man on earth (which he’s far from). 

“Chief… come on. You gave up your priesthood for her and you always- I mean for God’s sake, when aren’t you checking up on her?!” Shalnark points out. The other men nod in agreement. “Even Phinks caught on, and he’s only been here for a month.” He adds.

“She stays because I give her a sense of safety-“

“Jesus Christ you’re as blind as a bat.”

“Shut it, Shalnark.” Chrollo groans out, walking away from the gazebo they stood under. He could hear them roaring with laughter, and he’d let them. It doesn't matter so long as you’re happy and safe. Chrollo wouldn’t consider you a lover, more of a best friend. He’s certain you feel the same way as him; anything romantic has to be purely imagined by the group. 

“What are they laughing about?” You ask Chrollo as he sits across from you. You enjoy wearing chemise dresses now, and never hide your hair. Chrollo’s glad, it suits you more than the robes and headdresses did. 

“They’re just teasing, it’s all in good fun.” He responds, watching you finish as you place the last of the beads on the rosary. Chrollo hesitates for a moment before speaking. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Hm?” You don’t look up, you never do when you’re focused on rosaries.

“Do you want to stay with us? I know you don’t mind stealing- but you hesitate when it comes to killing… which isn’t often for you but- what I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to stay if this isn’t the lifestyle you want.” Chrollo rushes out, earning a moment of stillness from you. You look up at him, staring into his very soul. 

“Do… Do you not want me around?” You speak clearly, but the look in your eyes tells him a different story. 

“That’s not it! Listen, I’ve saved up enough money for myself. I can buy you a house in a nice town-“

“Then what is it? Because it certainly sounds like you don’t want me here anymore.” You snap at him. You can be sassy at times, sure, but he’s never seen you… distressed like this. 

He speaks your name clearly, as if to get a point across. “No, never that!” He persists, wondering if this was a mistake. “I just want you to be comfortable and to live a life you’re content with.” He smiles at you, but it seems he’s preaching to a deaf choir. 

For the first time since he’s known you, you drop the rosary and leave it unfinished on the table. Some beads scatter onto the floor as you stand and walk away deeper into the gardens. Chrollo feels his heart race. He quickly picks up the beads on the floor as well as the necklace. Did he say something wrong? 

He hears the men howling as they watch the unfortunate sight before them, irking Chrollo even more. He needs to follow you and disregard them… your feelings are more important than their satisfaction. 

“Do you think she’ll stay mad?” Uvogin whispers to the group. 

“Nah, had a vision the other night. She won’t be upset for long.” Nobunaga clarifies. 

-

Chrollo finds you sitting under a statue of the Virgin Mary, paying no mind to anything besides his Messiah’s holy mother. You lean on her as if she could give you some sort of physical comfort that you certainly haven’t been blessed with in years. Despite her ignorance in life, there’s no doubt you miss a motherly presence in yours. 

Chrollo calls out to you gently, unmoving, but observant. You turn your head away, do tears fall down your face because of him? Chrollo never intended to hurt you, he doesn’t exactly know what he said in the first place but…

“Go away.” You mumble against the statue. 

“I can’t in good conscience leave you upset, dearest.” 

“You don’t even want me around.” You snark back. 

“But I do! You’re the very soul I’ve done all of this for, if I had it my way you’d never be separated from me.” Chrollo admits, sitting down next to you. “But I can’t be selfish with you, not after everything you’ve gone through.” He whispers. 

“Two years ago, I told you that I felt safer with you than I did with anyone else, that I didn’t want to leave your side no matter what. What part of that did you not understand?” You finally face him, a betrayed looked in your eyes. “You’re undermining me just like everyone else.”

“My apologies, that was never my intention, I just want you to be safe.” 

“But you want to abandon me like everyone else.”

He struck a nerve, didn’t he? A sensitive one at that. 

“My dear, I love you too much to abandon you.” You finally look at him with something that isn’t discontent, calming Chrollo. “All I’m saying is that if you ever wish for something else, by all means tell me and I’ll make it happen. Since you want to be at my side, I’ll keep you here for eternity.” Chrollo reassures. You finally smile a bit, even if it’s petite. 

“You love me?” You repeat back to him, and Chrollo nods. 

“Of course I do! I love you as much as I love everyone else here.” Your smile drops again, oh no…

You shove Chrollo against his side, quickly standing up with a fury he’s never seen from you. 

“You’re so fucking confusing!” You don’t speak, but yell. He’s never heard you swear either… Chrollo gathers his senses as he stands, walking after you, and unfortunately for him you happened to go past the group of men who mocked him earlier. You’ve made your way to your sleeping quarter, perhaps he should give you some time…

“So why’d she yell?” Nobunaga asks as Chrollo makes his way back to the gazebo. 

Chrollo sighs before recapping the events from minutes ago, unsure if they can even help him in this. When he finishes, the group unashamedly laugh at him, making Chrollo shrink in stature. He’s not used to this treatment…

“Holy shit- I can’t believe you’re the smartest guy here!” Uvogin barks, holding onto his stomach as if it pains him to laugh. It probably does. 

“Even I could see what’s wrong and I don’t have experiences with human women.”

“Oh my god, the damn satyr could have played it off better!” 

Chrollo’s had enough of this mockery, of being everyone’s punching bag. “Well what in Hell did I do wrong?” He snaps, looking at them for answers. 

“Boss… she clearly has feelings-“

“As in romantic-“

“As in she’s IN love-“

“Are we sure he gets the picture yet?” Phinks finishes, earning a few chuckles from everyone. 

“She loves you. And you rejected her feelings by saying you love her as much as you love everyone else… I mean it’s pretty obvious.” Nobunaga finishes. 

“To be fair, it’s not as if you’ve ever tried in terms of romance, but come on chief.” Shalnark pipes in. 

You were in love with him? Are they sure? You’re too quaint to be with a man like him, even though your actions rival his own…

“I’ve made a terrible mistake, haven’t I?” Chrollo groans, he’s probably ruined whatever chances of happiness he’s ever had with you. He smacks himself on the forehead, he needs to fix this, fast. 

-

There’s only one set of dorms at the abandoned church, so it wasn’t difficult to locate you by any means. He can hear your voice along with Pakunoda’s coming from behind your personal quarters. You have definitely been crying, that’s obvious. He leans up against the door, wanting to make sure he wasn’t interrupting. 

“… but my dreams can be avoided. I guess this was one of those times.” Your raspy voice admits to your well acquainted friend. 

“I hate him! He broke my heart- and I didn’t even think that was possible! And I left my rosary on that damn table…” you admit, voice raw with emotion. He hears some sort of banging coming from inside, and he feels a pang in his own heart. He’s ruined everything with you, you won’t ever see him as a friend now, or anything more, what a fool he’s been!

“You don’t hate him,” Pakunoda coos, “you’re just upset.”

“Well yes, but it damn well feels like I do!”

“You’re a passionate girl, his loss, truly. I think you’d bode well with someone like Phinks, at least he won’t be dumb enough to blow you off… and he’s the stupid one here, scratch that- you don’t need a man.” Pakunoda jokes, but Chrollo doesn’t enjoy her suggestion. You with Phinks? Unlikely, unthinkable, and abhorrent to his very soul. 

“Ugh, I should just leave like he wanted anyway. I’ve already made a fool of myself. Would you keep this between the two of-“

Chrollo knocks on the door, harshly. He’s had enough of this, he’d straighten it out and fix things between the two of you. 

“GO AWAY.” You yell at the door. Pakunoda groans out a small “ow!” But he hears movement regardless. “What are you doing?!” You whisper as Pakunoda opens the door, revealing her boss. 

“I think you two have a lot to talk about.” She acknowledges, winking at Chrollo as she walks out of the room and into the hall. You groan at the site of Chrollo, laying on your mattress with your hands over your face. He walks in, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that- I wasn’t aware- I don’t know how to do this.” He sighs in defeat, placing his own hands in his face in absolute frustration. Chrollo’s never had to confess his feelings before, he devoted himself to God as a child, how the hell do people do this?! He looks up at you and sees you haven’t moved an inch, still covering your lovely face. 

“I do love you-“

“Like you love everyone else.”

“More than that-“

“You’re just saying that because I’m in distress!”

You’re inconsolable, understandable but a bit irritating. 

“Please sit up, dear. Look me in the eyes as we speak.” Chrollo begs, and he thanks God that you listen. You hold onto your knees as you stare him down with swollen eyes. 

“I’ve never ever wanted to hurt you,” he whispers, scooting closer to you, “please forgive me, I’ve never had to confess my feelings for someone, you’ll be the first and I can see I’m already blowing it.” He chuckles, but your face remains impassive. “I’ll admit, I’ve felt something stronger than… friendship towards you since I first gave that sermon three years ago- even before that, your kindness was evident. You were the only one who understood my message of acceptance and love, that was clear to me. The way you said my name that day, as if I held the answer to everything… but truth be told, I’m useless without you dear. You’ve changed my life for the better and I never want you to stop changing it, impacting me every breath I take. I’ve made mistakes, that’s an indisputable truth, but leaving with you was never something I’d regret. I do love you, and I kept myself ignorant of your feelings towards me because I could never imagine that an angel such as yourself would love me.” Chrollo takes a deep breath in, mentally exhausted from such a confession. It was easier to confess his sins to Father Elroy as a child than to admit his indescribable affections towards you. One of your delicate hands grabs onto his, giving him hope that he’s finally done something right with you today. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you sniffle. His face falls, you have the audacity to call him confusing but you hold his hand while you’re upset with him?! “But I do love you too.” You briefly smile. 

“You’re so fucking confusing,” he repeats your words back to you, and you both giggle. 

“I learned it from you!” You retort, smacking his hand before holding it once more. “Don’t you dare use my words against me!” 

“Forgive me, dear. Also, promise me you won’t leave?” He brings up, remembering your words to Pakunoda. You nod, bringing his hand towards your lips to kiss it. 

“I’m safest with you anyway.”

-

“Don’t touch my darling.” The sound of a gunshot echoes behind Chrollo, then that of a body hitting the ground. Chrollo quickly turns around to see one of Lord Bizeff’s guards dead, a growing pool of blood under him. A large polearm clanks as it rolls out of his grip, the very weapon that would have taken his life if not for you. You stand several meters away in the castle hallway, holding your gun still. 

“My love, you need to be more careful!” you warn, putting the safety on your device as you run up to him for a great hug. “Those weapons are filled with poison, I can’t live without you!” You scold, holding and kissing his face so lovingly. The shock wears off, and Chrollo’s hands immediately snake around your waist. 

“I thought they were all dead…” he admits, accepting your kisses around his pale, chubby cheeks. 

“I had a vision last night… I don’t have to explain what happened, do I? Come on, we still need to open the main gate for the others.” You say, letting go as you continue your trail down the castle’s hallway. 

What would Chrollo do without you? Thank god for you, his guardian angel. 

-

The Spider drinks away their worries inside an old cabin as they celebrate their latest victory: the castle of Lord Bizeff. A detestable man, truly. He donated hundreds of thousands of Jenny to the church, yet trafficked women around the countries. He kept some for himself, Machi and Shizuku were more than happy to free them and give them enough Jenny to ease their troubles. The trauma they couldn’t make up for, but they had their freedom once more. Better than to be that filth’s toy, even death would be more merciful. 

Chrollo stands outside of the cabin, smoking a cigarette as he thinks of his near demise today. 

You saved him, but he almost left this life without marrying you, without having children to raise and love with you. If he were to rise to heaven today, he would have regrets. His soul would be shattered at the thought of you loving another human as time passes, Chrollo couldn’t bear the thought of it. 

The door to the back opens, and his drunken woman grabs ahold of his arm. “What’s wrong, my love? Come inside!” You encourage, kissing his muscular forearm. Chrollo offers you his cigarette by placing it in front of your mouth, and you happily inhale the smoke into your lungs. You look ethereal as you blow it out, looking up at him with nothing but admiration and love. 

“Will you marry me, dear?” He suddenly asks, holding onto your waist with his free arm. “I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not my wife- dear God, I don’t even have a ring…” he realizes, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. “I promise I’ll get one soon, I just- I can’t stand not calling you my wife.” He admits, throwing his cigarette onto the ground as he kisses your forehead. Your eyes glimmer with excitement as you enthusiastically nod. 

“Of course I’ll marry you! Nothing could make me happier than being your wife-“ Chrollo cuts you off with a kiss, feeling the rage of passion take over. You’ll be married soon, that’s all that matters to him now; He’ll live and die without regrets. 

-

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Hisoka. He’s an excellent thief and more than worthy of joining The Spider.” Chrollo says with a smile on his face. The members hiding in the church all look over to their leader, staring at the man before them. A tall, slender man with burning red hair and a jester's outfit walks behind your lover, making your heart stop for a moment. A few of the members wave to him, but most of you ignore his prying eyes. His golden orbs stop at you in particular, grinning widely as he bows. 

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you all, I’m sure I’ll leave quite an impression.” He says, an undetectable accent to him that sends shivers down your spine. 

His gaze never leaves you, and you’re not the only soul to notice either. Nobunaga stands in front of you as if to guard you, filled with disgust as he continues to look in your direction.  you turn your back, continuing your conversation with Machi to distract yourself from the feeling of… whatever this was. His voice feels familiar to you, as if you heard it long ago in a dream. 

-

“Boss, you shouldn’t trust that clown.” Urges Nobunaga. Chrollo, of course, has ignored all advice to let go of Hisoka. This wasn’t the first time a member has voiced their concern for Hisoka’s ways, but Chrollo’s too blindsided by all the good in his life. 

He’s too comfortable, and Nobunaga simply wants what’s best for his friend. 

“I’ve heard it all, he’s always late, he goes by his own plans during heist, he’s unsettling-“

“Boss! I don’t have a good feeling about this, and neither does she.” He’s referring to you of course, you’ve voiced your opinion on the jester as well. 

“Nobunaga, my philosophy stands as a vital point of The Spider. We do this as a means to help the people who need it, regardless of who they are and where they come from. I refuse to raise judgement on a soul that the church itself would deem evil; my fiancée is the perfect example of this.” Chrollo rebutes, staring at the newly painted image of you he had paid a hefty price for. 

“She’s a good soul, we don’t doubt that! There’s something… something sinister about this man. I don’t even think he’s human at times.”

“Neither are Uvogin or Shalnark for that matter. What point are you trying to make?” Chrollo’s had enough of this. Hisoka’s helped enough in the group, it’s nonsensical to leave him behind because of his status.  

Nobunaga sighs, there’s no point in this. The chief’s words were final, after all. 

-

For the first time in 5 years, you screamed in your sleep again. Chrollo awakes to the horrible shrieks coming out of your mouth, trying desperately to wake you to no avail. Nobunaga and Machi barge into your current room, witnessing you thrashing around the bed as Chrollo tries to stop your arms from hurting yourself. 

“She’s having a vision.” Nobunaga states, “My love, wake Pakunoda. She can probably see what she's dreaming of.” Nobunaga orders and Machi runs out of the room. Nobunaga goes to Chrollo’s side and restrains your legs, keeping you from hurting Chrollo. “She won’t wake until it’s over, it’s a harsh reality for people like us.” Nobunaga yells out over your screams of terror. 

“Make it… stop!” You screech, as if in pain. You beg for help, screaming your lover's name over and over until you demand mercy. 

“Am- am I doing something in her vision to her? I would never dream of harming her!” Chrollo yells back, looking to Nobunaga for answers. The two women enter the room before Nobunaga can respond. Pakunoda looks down at you with pity, but grabs hold of your temples with her hands. 

She holds you for a moment, but immediately lets go as she shrieks, throwing her body back and moving to the opposite side of the room as she pants. 

“What the hell is that?!” She bawls, holding onto herself for comfort. “It’s- it's eating her, it’s eating her heart!” Pakunoda cries, “I could feel it, fuck- I can’t tell you what the hell that thing is but it’s consuming her… with purpose. It’s calculated, it has to be the devil himself,” she whispers as Machi hugs her for comfort. 

“STOP!” You shriek as your eyes finally open. The men let go of your body as you begin to shake, tears streaming down your face as you break out in sobs. You throw your body against Chrollo’s, unable to speak. 

“It’s okay my love, you’ll be okay… I’ll stop anything that tries to hurt you.” He coos into the shell of your ear. You viciously shake your head against his chest, there was nothing that could stop the wolf from claiming its lamb. Every fiber in your soul knew it. 

-

“All of her dreams can be avoided if we’re careful, she was alone in the dream so at least one person has to stick by her side at all times.” Pakunoda explains as the rest of the members listen to her. They sit in the pews of the church they currently reside in discussing your situation. Your visions have ceased entirely besides the one that haunts you almost every night. Machi is currently watching over you in the dormitory, making sure you can rest at least four hours tonight. Ever since the first dream, you’ve begun malnourishing yourself and have been significantly quieter. Your rosaries are untouched and you seem to have no interest in making them anymore. 

“She’s had this dream for years now, she first spoke of it when I arrived at the old monastery. It’s the reason why I messaged Nobunaga to begin with.” Chrollo explains, pacing down the aisle. The group has never seen him so anxious, his typical calm nature nowhere to be seen. “Pakunoda, can you look into her vision again?” The woman stiffens at her boss's request. “Try to see what the creature looks like, perhaps we can kill it before it reaches her.” There's still no response from her. Chrollo turns to face the blonde and she avoids eye contact. 

“I can still feel it gnawing at my body…” she whispers, “it felt like I was staring at death itself; and the way it moaned as it bit into me…” she trails off. “I’ll do it, but only this once.”

-

“Chrollo, would you do anything for me?” You meekly ask, holding onto his arm as you cuddle together in your bed. Your hair is thinning, and so is your body. Chrollo managed to feed you some fruits today, but it’s the most you’ve eaten in days. You can’t sustain yourself like this. 

“Of course, my love,” he responds with love, running a hand through your lackluster hair. 

“Never let that awful man near me. The jester; his eyes haunt me.” You croak out. “I’ll never ask you for anything again, please just be rid of him.” You persist. Chrollo looks down into your eyes, they lack the spirit that once brought them light. He couldn’t deny you this request, even if it meant disregarding his own philosophy. 

“I won’t let Hisoka near you, don’t concern yourself with him.” He smiles reassuringly as you cuddle into his forearm once more. “We have one final heist tomorrow, after that we’ll part ways with him.” He assures. You nod your head and breathe in his scent, it’s always calmed you. 

“Can we eat something else? I think I can try something more savory now, my hunger returns.” Chrollo’s eyes brighten at your words, perhaps you’d finally return to normal! 

“Of course, my dear! Anything for you.” He coos, enthusiastically kissing your forehead. 

-

You managed to eat lentil soup tonight before retiring to bed, making Chrollo a happy man. Pakunoda stands by, mentally preparing herself for what’s to happen. 

“If there’s anything I can do to give back to you for this, just tell me. I’d do anything for my wife.” Chrollo says, watching as you peacefully slumber. 

“I care about her, just promise me you’ll keep her happy… and finally do away with the clown.” She replies. “Aren’t you eager? Already calling her your wife and you’re not even wed yet. It’s darling.” She compliments. “She’s eager too, you know? She already has her wedding dress…” Pakunoda teases. Chrollo blushes for a moment, but moves out of the way for her. Pakunoda reaches her hands out and touches your temples once more, looking into your head. 

“Stormy… the winds are rough… she’s in a white dress… ugh… the altar… it’s … bloody… there’s whispers, getting louder…” Pakunoda mumbles out, her eyes shut just like yours. 

“What do they say?” Chrollo asks. 

“Hate… hate you… lovely look… little lamb… there’s nothing you can do… show me your face… you love blood, but not like I do… my final feast, little lamb-“ Pakunoda tenses, so does your own body. “No body, only eyes… they stare into us… No! Wake up! Wake up right now!” Pakunoda’s eyes shoot open as she lets go of your temples and grabs onto your shoulders instead, shaking you rapidly. “Please! I can’t- I can’t let you suffer this again! Wake up dammit!” One hand reaches for your temple as the other slaps you across the face, forcing your eyes open as you breathe in deeply.

“What the hell?” You pant out, looking at your surroundings. Chrollo rushes to your side and rubs the cheek Pakunoda slapped you on, making sure you were okay. You meekly smile at both of them. “How did I wake up?” You sigh. 

“Apologies boss, but I couldn’t stand by while she suffers from her vision. I hit you, apologies honey. I think my powers helped disturb your vision” Pakunoda explains to you, not quite understanding herself either. 

“No, you did the right thing. I’m thankful.” You pant, sitting up and crawling into Chrollo’s lap. “Do you have to go on the heist tomorrow?” You grumble, gathering your lover's attention. 

“Pakunoda and Shizuku will stay here with you, you’ll be perfectly safe, my love.” Chrollo assures. You hesitantly nod, but accept your fate. 

-

“How do I look?” You twirl around in a magnificent, pearly white dress that could only ever be designed for someone of a wealthy background. That doesn’t matter to you, you stole it out of Bizeff’s castle after Chrollo proposed to you. It’s not as if anyone there would need it. Pakunoda claps while Shizuku whistles, it’s truly the most beautiful design for you. 

Everyone else left for the heist an hour ago. You’d move locations again after this, but Pakunoda insisted on seeing the dress before they came back.

“Marvelous, honey.”

“I think it was made for you in mind.”

You blush at their compliments, feeling a sense of pride at the thought of being Chrollo’s wife. “All of these years with him by my side…” you begin, staring out the window to look at the sunset, “and we’ll be together as husband and wife. I can’t express to you both how happy I am.” You wipe a tear from your face, turning around to see both women suddenly asleep. You go up to Pakunoda first, shaking her and calling out her name in desperation.. Then Shizuku, who was falling off your bed. You grab ahold of her body and place her gently onto the mattress as you try to wake your friends. 

“This- this isn’t funny! Wake up! Both of you please!” You shriek, feeling your heart race more and more. They could still breathe, thank God, but why did they suddenly fall asleep?! “Shizuku! Pakunoda! Please wake up! You’re scaring me!” You panic, feeling your breathing unravel. 

The sound of a bell startles you, and you look out at the window again. There’s no sunset anymore, only rapid clouds growing as they cover the atmosphere with a murky darkness akin to that of Hell itself. You grab your gun, taking the safety off. You reach for the door and hesitate, grabbing one of your rosaries off the table and placing it around your neck. It’s enough to give you the confidence to open the door and leave the dormitory. 

The bell atop the church is swaying rapidly but no one mans the rope, you can see that much. You let out a shaky breath, holding onto the gun carefully. Someone is in there, but you’ll kill them for the sake of the group. You dash inside of the church and a sense of déjà vu and dread overwhelms you. 

You fucked up. You shouldn’t have entered. You quickly turn to exit but the doors wouldn’t budge, no matter how much you push or pull. The glass! There are stained glasses next to the door! It would be a shame to break them, but you’re left with no choice. You run up to the one on the right, shooting it with one of your bullets as it shatters onto the floor. You walk up to your exit and sigh in defeat; a blue flame engulfed all of the exits. Only the exits, the rest of the grounds were left unharmed. 

“Why do you run, little lamb? Show me your face.” A voice moans across the chapel. He shouldn’t be here… he left with the rest of them! Dammit! You told Chrollo to be rid of him! Why didn’t he listen to you?! 

“You love blood, don’t you? The rush of killing a man… to take his life for the sins he’s committed… don’t you feel ever so righteous? Yes… you adore the sensation, but not like I do.” He suddenly growls. You’ll kill him, there’s no other choice left for you. “Come, my sweet, mourning lamb. Suffering is nigh.” It’s all coming true, your dreams, your visions. Will this be your final night on earth? But Chrollo… he would be devastated… you can’t do this, you won’t give in. 

You make your way to the aisle, the jester nowhere to be seen, yet you could feel eyes on you. The bell continues to echo throughout the church, unsettling you more. 

“Ah! You’re wearing the dress too! What a lovely look, little lamb! I hate you, but I have to admit the boss has wonderful taste.” Its voice mocks you, it’s everywhere and nowhere at once. “How beautiful…” he moans, “how… finite.” 

You feel hands on you but there’s nothing. You try your best to shake off the feeling but it’s becoming too much. Will Pakunoda and Shizuku be okay? The cross that holds the crucified body of Christ at the front of the altar suddenly falls onto the floor. He's long abandoned this church, hasn’t he?

“There’s nothing you can do…” a hand grabs at your neck, choking you. You feel something physical behind you now, a body. “You’ll come to know your God soon; tell him Hisoka says hello! Quite the bastard that thing is.” He whispers, licking the shell of your ear as you drop your gun and struggle against him. Fresh tears drop freely from your eyes as you panic, spots begin to cover your vision as he drags you by the neck towards the altar. 

-

“Where the fuck is he?” Uvogin spits out, “we need to leave now boss. They’ve called for more backup.” He warns, grabbing as much Jenny as he could and placing it into a sack. 

Chrollo sighs, “Maybe he’s heard I plan to be rid of him. Let’s head back to the hideout.” He declares. The rest of the members nod, filling their own sacks of money. Another wealthy family who owns slaves; what filth! They managed to free them in time, giving them a few thousand Jenny to let them start off their new lives. 

The group heads out of the estate, making their way back to the hideout. 

-

Chrollo is heavily distraught at the sight before him; a cerulean fire covers parts of the church, at least, that’s what he can see through the thick fog. There were no winds and thick clouds when they left… None of this is right, and the eerie sound of the bell trolling doesn’t quell his nerves either. 

Uvogin, Phinks, and Nobunaga run up to the church’s door and attempt to push it to no avail. 

“This… this isn’t possible- my love!” Chrollo makes a dash for the dormitory, dropping everything he has as he runs into your bedroom. Pakunoda is unconscious, and it seems that Shizuku is barely opening her eyes. She mumbled your name as she rubs her eyes, looking around and attempting to stand. 

“I feel… so dizzy…” she whispers as she falls onto the ground. Shalnark and Machi follow behind him, entering your bedroom as Chrollo grabs Shizuku and helps her onto the chair by your desk. 

“What happened to my love? Where is she?” Chrollo rushes out, tears threatening to spill from his face. “What happened to you two?!”

“She was… talking to us when I… I fell asleep. I don’t know why, it just overwhelmed me…” Shizuku says, hunched over. She looks at your desk and grabs ahold of one of the rosaries you’ve left, letting the spirits take over her soul. Shizuku’s eyes roll to the back of her head as they overwhelm her with the truth. 

“The jester has waited too long,

He’s coming! He’s coming! He rages with hunger!

She’ll come to know her God is what he says!

He’s already feasted, the closest he’ll get to heaven!

Return the demon back to hell where it belongs…”

Shizuku passes out once more, losing her grip on reality. She used the last of her strength to help him… 

“Machi, Shalnark, keep watch over their bodies! Make sure no one harms them.” Chrollo orders as he makes his way to the church. Despite the flames burning there was no smell besides that of rotten flesh. The men still stood trying their hardest to open the damn doors when Chrollo notices the sound of your voice. 

“STOP!” You shriek, followed by the wails of a tortured woman putting Chrollo into overdrive. He slams his fist against the door and tries his best to force it open, feeling absolutely useless. 

“The fire’s enchanted, we’d burn to death if we touch it with a finger.” Nobunaga explains. “Uvogin, do you think you could scratch the door open?” 

The werewolf’s claws extend as your cries of pain grow louder. He scratches at the old wood, barely leaving a mark on them. Your voice finally quiets down, and the flames cease. Chrollo pushes at the doors and they finally open, as if mocking the Spider. The men rush inside to a scene they’ll all remember for centuries to come. 

Hisoka stands over your body as a pool of flesh and blood grows under the altar you were laid on. Bones were thrown onto the floor as well, most likely your left arm as you’ve predicted hundreds of times. The jester grins over your body, holding your half-eaten heart in his claws. The blood vessels are still attached as he takes his final bite of your life source. You’re dead, and you probably have been for a while. 

Nobunaga’s the first to take action, taking out his blade as he rushes to cut off Hisoka’s head. He’s successful, but it doesn’t immediately kill off the demon. Chrollo rushes to your mutilated body and holds onto you, staring into your empty eyes as his tears spill from his eyes and onto your agonized face. Your wedding dress… stained with blood and ruined by the savagery of Hisoka. 

“Why… why?!” He screams, to Hisoka, to God, the Spider’s members, to anyone who’d listen to the man’s grievances. 

Hisoka’s decapitated head chuckles at the sight before him, licking its lips. “I merely wanted a final feast before returning to my prison… She was well worth the wait. I knew I did right by setting her home on fire all those years ago… her soul was a marvelous last supper.” He cackles as the last of his power leaves his head, burning itself and his body into ashes. 

“What did she do to deserve this?! What have I done to deserve such a betrayal?! To have my wife- my woman taken from me in such a brutal way?!” Chrollo wails, grabbing hold of his own sword as he rises, gently leaving your body on the altar as he walks to the fallen crucified body of Christ. 

“I’ve dedicated my life to you! I’ve killed for you! I’ve given to those who never had their own means of attaining for you! I followed everything I could… and this, this is how you reward me?! By taking my only joy away, by making her suffer at the hands of a demon?! To hell with this, damn you!” Chrollo strikes into the heart of the Lord’s chest, a stream of human blood flowing through the area his sword struck at, surprising the group. They watch as their untethered leader removes the blade, now stained by the blood of Christ. 

“It’s- it’s made out of stone… how is that possible..?” Whispers Phinks to Uvogin, both equally shocked at the sight before them. 

Chrollo’s body suddenly drops to the floor, grabbing ahold of his face as a burning sensation fills his body. “What’s… what’s happening to me?!” He demands, his teeth aching with agony. 

“I think you’ve upset your Lord.” Nobunaga replies, kneeling next to his lifelong friend. “Chrollo, I’ve never seen human blood come out of a statue like this… I think Hisoka may have cursed this whole place.” He warns, “we should get you and her body out of here… there’s a castle about a few hours walk into the forest, we’d have to go through the mountains but it shouldn’t be anything difficult for us.” Nobunaga didn’t know what else to say to him as Chrollo pants heavily in pain. 

One of his fingers slips down to his sword, dragging it in the blood of Christ. He brings it up to his face, sniffing it profusely until he licks at it, disgusting Nobunaga. 

“Boss- that’s not-“ Chrollo suddenly pushes Nobunaga down, eyes blown wide with bloodlust. He notices sharp fangs have grown in his teeth, sharp and yet to be baptized. Before anyone can stop Chrollo, he rushes up to your body, overwhelmed with the scent of blood. He gently bites into the unstained side of your neck, drinking your still-warm blood. He grabs onto your body once more, holding you delicately as he feast to his heart's content. 

No one stops him, they’re all too shocked to move. The sight of him consuming your blood… would you have been okay with this? Does your soul watch over him now in pity or anger? Are you happy to nourish your lover in death? 

Chrollo’s had his fill of you, if he couldn’t have your body physically, then at least he could devour you in the only way his mind could comprehend now. 

Hisoka consumed you out of greed and lust; was Chrollo’s reasoning much different?

He looks down at your body as he pants, more tears forming at his eyes. “Forgive me, beloved. I won’t harm your body again… I didn’t realize what I'd done until I did it; let me bury you and put you to rest.” Chrollo sobs out, carrying your bloodied body bridal style for the last time. 

“Where did you say that castle was located? Nobunaga? She deserves a beautiful home to rest in.” 

-

“What happened to the church after that? How did the others transform?” Kalluto asks, leaning against Chrollo’s side. Chrollo chuckles as he places his arm around his underling, sighing. 

“I buried my lover that night, the following day we came back to burn it down, no one’s dared to step on that land since.” Chrollo explains. “I… I turned Nobunaga a few days later in a fit of blood lust. He wasn’t upset, he said he dreamt of it happening the night my lover died. He expected it to happen.” 

“So… you were the one to turn Nobunaga?” Kalluto confirms. “But what about the rest of them?”

“Nobunaga turned Machi a few days after that instance, it was by accident. The blood lust was too overwhelming for him and he nearly killed her. He fed her his own blood and turned her that night… admittedly I turned Pakunoda soon after starving myself for a few days, Phinks and Shizuku were turned by Machi, and Uvogin and Shalnark continue to live due to the potions Shizuku’s created.” Chrollo explains as he rises from the snowy ground. Kalluto follows suit right after, holding onto Chrollo’s hand as they begin to walk back to the castle. 

“What about Franklin and Feitan? They’re not vampires, and neither is Bonolenov.” He continues. 

“Franklin… admittedly as a vampyrling I stole his body from a grave in the village to experiment on. He’s what I refer to as a Frankenstein, strong and immortal. He likes to stay with Shizuku and help her with experiments. Feitan’s a naga, their life expectancy can reach into the thousands. Bon was already a mummy when he joined The Spider. Any more questions, my underling?” Chrollo asks amusedly, opening the metal doors to the back entrance of his home. 

“How come you never leave the castle?” Kalluto continues.

“My beloved rests here and it was my foolish choices that led to her demise, so I won’t leave her for an extended amount of time. The Spider will be here shortly, let’s prepare the dining hall for them.”

-

“Kalluto! Your hair’s grown longer.” Pakunoda comments as she pulls in the boy for a hug. “You look sharper too, getting over the fledgling stage, huh?” She adds, pulling away from him. 

“Damn, I missed this place! Is the boss inside?” Uvogin roars as he strides past the opened gate. 

“He’s catching your dinner.” Kalluto confirms, watching as more members fill the courtyard. “Franklin, Shizuku, and Feitan are in the foyer, you can join them in there while I wait for Nobunaga, Machi, and Bonolenov.” Kalluto instructs. Uvogin walks ahead while Pakunoda stays behind with Kalluto. 

“How has he been?”

“Same as always. He told me about his dead fiancée. He won’t move on from her.”

“That’s expected, they were practically soulmates… he’s been happier with you around, so thank you for that.”

Kalluto shifts uncomfortably, looking away from the woman. “It’s not like I asked to be turned, but I am grateful. This life… I don’t think I can move on from certain things now.” He admits. 

“You’re a vampire, you’ll learn to relish in that one day.”

-

Chrollo sips on a chalice of blood as the spider members feast on their own delicacies. Most of them are vampyres too, but it was quite entertaining to watch Uvogin and Feitan eat the deer he hunted for them. Feitan unhinges his jaws in order to swallow it whole, while Uvogin prefers to slash into his meat with his bare claws. Bon didn’t eat much, basic human sustenance would fuel him such as fruit and cooked meat, same with Franklin. 

“Boss! Why’d you call us here anyway?” Uvogin barks out between savory bites of the deer carcass. “Been a while, missed you guys- fuck, this deer’s real good!” He moans. 

“The local villages have all grown weary of us once more since they’ve noticed Kalluto’s lack of aging- I believe we should give them something to truly worry about.” 

[0asisbliss]

Vampire!Chrollo is the type of fall in love with you because you look similar to his lover decades ago. He'll unknowingly start to follow you around and just outright stalk you, and by that time he would have your schedule memorized. After some time he would want to be in your life personally, and save you. By saving I would mean turn you. The reason he's so infatuated with turning you is because he was too late with his past lover. Before he could even give her eternal life she succumbed to disease. Something he wasn't aware of. Now in this stage and era you have many, many more threats than his past lover did. And he'll do anything to protect you.

[after-witch]

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up. 

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away. 

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs. 

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life. 

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season. 

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner. 

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes. 

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New  York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’ 

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic. 

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces. 

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind,  you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running. 

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep. 

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking. 

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild. 

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way. 

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket. 

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.” 

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right? 

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman. 

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway. 

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he? 

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark. 

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another,  you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week. 

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you. 

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place.  “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.” 

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested. 

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected. 

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe? 

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.” 

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way. 

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story. 

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no. 

So you give it. 

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

--

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes. 

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness. 

Jake Jensen died screaming.

--

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night. 

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.” 

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse. 

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night. 

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too. 

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.” 

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.” 

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place. 

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream. 

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them. 

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger. 

“There--look! Look!” 

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts. 

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.” 

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand. 

Chrollo smiles. 

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do? 

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all. 

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind. 

--

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me? 

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth. 

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

--

Saturday:

Three people are dead. 

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But…  dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd. 

Yet now, in one morning, there are three. 

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad. 

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight. 

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

--

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days. 

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date. 

Fuck. 

“Daydreaming again?” 

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school. 

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?” 

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way. 

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.” 

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news. 

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game. 

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival. 

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes. 

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again. 

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him? 

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose. 

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!” 

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look. 

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit. 

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all. 

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you. 

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights. 

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says. 

--

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay. 

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind. 

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes. 

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you. 

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest. 

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival. 

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening. 

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it? 

You ask him, this time. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

--

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags. 

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water. 

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it.  “The waterfall adds a nice touch.” 

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess. 

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled. 

“It came highly recommended.” 

--

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex. 

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room. 

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand. 

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in  your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note. 

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong.  That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that.  You just know. 

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all. 

--

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused. 

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t). 

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that. 

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural. 

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify. 

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.” 

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you. 

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments. 

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue. 

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game. 

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming. 

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.” 

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.” 

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

--

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all. 

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense. 

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.” 

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken. 

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him. 

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway.  You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway. 

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.” 

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach. 

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd. 

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust. 

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do? 

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving. 

--

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t. 

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms. 

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?” 

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?” 

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police. 

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.” 

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving. 

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic. 

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch. 

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage. 

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve. 

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood. 

That’s not all he hit.  The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies. 

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!” 

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you. 

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?” 

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach. 

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!” 

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there. 

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch. 

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck. 

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires. 

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide.  But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years. 

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you. 

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away. 

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason,  you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway. 

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope. 

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below. 

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways. 

All of them have blood around their mouths. 

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up. 

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now. 

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs. 

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises. 

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow. 

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm. 

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man. 

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment.  Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is: 

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers. 

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material. 

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all. 

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while. 

He’s a vampire. 

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically. 

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy. 

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?” 

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin. 

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.” 

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.” 

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts. 

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest. 

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole. 

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s. 

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.” 

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him? 

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper. 

“Like. Hell.” 

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered. 

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire? 

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground. 

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not. 

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this. 

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once. 

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping. 

“F…fuck you.” 

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood. 

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment. 

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up. 

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them. 

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water. 

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.” 

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick. 

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper. 

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy.  “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous. 

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t. 

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely. 

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes. 

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand.  Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood. 

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too? 

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway? 

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over. 

--

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open. 

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch  and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think. 

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood. 

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run? 

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help. 

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find? 

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry. 

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry. 

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.” 

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--” 

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film. 

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort. 

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?” 

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness. 

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you. 

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down. 

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up,  you find that you simply can’t make your body do it.  You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this. 

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down. 

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world. 

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference. 

[uvobreakmylegs]

favorite fic? of yours and in general

I don't feel like picking and choosing between my own fics so instead I wanna share some fics written by my fellow yandere writers (some of which I may have shared in similar asks in the past but idc I wanna share them again):

from @hypnoswrites:

Chrollo vs a blacklist Hunter (I really enjoy how fast and how easily Chrollo was able to handle that situation, from cleaning up the body to controlling reader)

Illumi uses a needle on reader (love the way poor reader's mind is addled in this one and how easily she disregards the violent scene due to Illumi's influence. love the ending as well, it's so chilling)

Uvogin x reader x Franklin (two big men - my greatest weakness❤️❤️❤️)

vampire Razor (idk how to summarize this one accurately there's so much going on and I love it all so much)

apocalypse AU with Pakunoda (Paku my beloved❤️❤️❤️)

from @ddarker-dreams:

Chrollo's birthday (love me some Greedy Chrollo)

third party recognizes reader while she's out with Chrollo (poor reader tried SO hard to keep the guy away AND keep Chrollo appeased😭)

aftermath of Chrollo's darling being kidnapped (all of the conversations that Lock's readers have with Chrollo are always great to read but this one in particular sticks out in my mind and I love it)

Feitan's darling runs away (THAT FUCKING ENDING OMG)

Scaramouche's darling distracts him (I know next to nothing about Genshin Impact but I really enjoyed this fic❤️❤️❤️)

from @cherrysha:

ABO Uvogin (this fic lives in my head rent free)

Uvo's darling has a nightmare (there's something scary about how Uvo is so violent in trying to find her and how it contrasts with how gentle he is after. the anxiety she feels from her nightmare which then turns into comfort when he has her in his arms)

reader tries to kill Hisoka (poor reader😭)

god AU with Franklin (I love love love the buildup to Franklin's true reveal in this fic. how Franklin's presence is there within the temple once reader visits, but it's only when she finally collects the proper materials that he appears for real before her. plus the addition of reader possibly being in danger if she fails at the task he's set for her. there's a lot of buildup and dread in this fic and I love it)

Meleoron x reader (this fic is just cute as hell and I need to share it)

from @after-witch:

Feitan saves reader after she's been kidnapped (I've definitely shared this one before but that isn't stopping me from sharing it again bc this fic is amazing from beginning to end❤️❤️❤️)

one night stand with Feitan (I just love the way reader and Feitan end up connecting and how reader being herself is enough to make Feitan decide that he wants to keep her)

vampire Chrollo x reader (this is another fic that has so much going on that it's hard to get all of my thoughts on it out. it's just such a fun read and I love The Lost Boys vibes)

Chrollo's patience runs out (just Bastard Chrollo at his finest)

Uvogin retrieves his darling (in these kind of fics you just KNOW that Uvo will be getting his darling after they run, but it's always a wonder as to how that happens and what Uvo's reaction will be)

from @absolute-flaming-trash:

Hisoka buys his darling a gift (using bungee gum as a LEASH omg)

Hisoka looking for his soulmate (I really liked this version of the 30 seconds soulmate au❤️❤️❤️ it was interesting plus it offered more opportunities for reader to annoy Hisoka lol)

Chrollo and kidnapped reader (poor reader😭)

Illumi punishes reader (😳😳😳)

Mahito asking about love (anything with Mahito is generally fucked up due to him being.... himself. but this one had some moments that were kinda cute. like the description of Mahito laying on the bed reading a magazine, or the way he's described looking at reader. but all it takes is for one word and the mood feels dangerous again. also it's currently raining rn so reading this fic feels appropriate)

[galamalion]

𐕣. 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

summary. time inevitably approaches all, but an otherworldly suitor has other plans for you.

⤷ contents. yandere!vampire!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, blood // wc. 2.0k

⤷ notes. a very happy birthday to @ddarker-dreams! i wanted to write something cute and evil as a thanks for all the chrollo treats she's given out! hope you enjoy! <3

Dusk began to creep in across the horizon, dimly counting down the few hours before night would fall, allowing the silver moon to take its place among the stars. Golden rays began to dim, passing through the extravagant window in the room you’d been staying in, casting a faint glow across furniture and floor alike. 

Perhaps ‘staying’ wasn’t the correct word to use, though. It made you sound like a visitor, which you certainly were not. The metal lock on the door, the same shade as the setting sun, sealed you into a plush and comfortable tomb, only allowed to wander beneath illuminating moonlight. 

It was the only time he was allowed out too, after all.

You remembered the first time you met that man—Chrollo, as he called himself, though perhaps he had gone by a different name in years past. He called you glorious, a singular rose in a field of boring dandelions, waiting to be plucked and worshiped by a kindred soul. As the daughter of a farmer, his honeyed words made you feel warm inside. Night after night you would meet with him in the woods beside your village, listening to him speak about poetry, books, and the world outside your own quiet one. He made you feel alive—like setting a helpless dove free from a poorly made cage of twigs.

If only he told you the dove was just flying into a golden prison. Maybe you would have run then, told your mother and father about the wicked and beautiful stranger in the woods. But his stories and words wove you into a web too tight to escape, and too alluring to even want to.

You sighed, both out of boredom and out of anguish. Your sleeping habits had changed since you’d been brought to this ancient castle. Now you would wake up just before sunset, giving you time to prepare yourself for Chrollo’s bothersome speeches. Back when you were younger you would have found them poetic—dashing, even. But now, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone. Return you back to your family, your friends, and your village.

The first time you’d ever begged him for that he just smiled, wiping tears off your lashes and running his hand gently through your hair.

“They’re gone,” he had cooed, coaxing your back. “There is nothing for you to return to, my dear.”

His words only brought more tears, and broken sobs along with it. A cacophony of anguished screams and hopeless crying continued night after night, and Chrollo had left you alone for them. He returned on the third night, comforting you through your discordant howling and tears, not saying a single word. Only gently stroking your hair and humming a lullaby ever so softly, bringing your wailing to a whimper as you dozed off to sleep, tears still running down your face.

You should have hated him after those words, hated him until the sun and the moon and every last star in the sky burnt out. Until your bones turned to dust and that dust turned to nothing, as all good things should. But instead, you let him comfort you, as he had done before. You let him hold you and sing to you and your hatred dissipated almost as quickly as it came. Now, the only person you can hate is yourself.

The resounding chime of a bell echoed throughout the castle, finding its way under the door and into your ears, and one look outside confirmed what the bell had just screamed to you. The moon, illustrious and horrid—a grim reminder of your fate, stood proudly amongst its brothers and sisters in the inky sky.

Oh, how you preferred the sun.

A loud knock on the door—one you’d grown to expect—caused you to stretch out of bed and to the middle of the room, throwing the closet open.

Dresses in onyx and sangria were all you had, each only slightly different in design. Some had lace trims, intricately made and without flaws. Others had slits so high you were certain your mother would have chased you out of the village herself. All chosen by Chrollo, of course. You didn’t even know what sangria was before you’d met him, a drink too rich for you to ever experience on your own.

“I’m not decent,” you called out, scanning your limited options. A faint chuckle was barely discernible through the thick wooden door, a sign that Chrollo would wait, though not for long.

You shuffled out of the loose nightgown and tossed it into a basket. With Chrollo breathing down the door you had almost no time to carefully choose your dress of the day—not that it particularly mattered to you. But it was better than letting Chrollo have control over another aspect of your life.

A simple black gown, without lace or an indecent alteration, was your choice. The neckline was plunging—far more than anything you wore—but you had learned to push your own feelings down.

“Modesty only matters when around others,” Chrollo had told you. “But here, it is just you and I. There is nothing to fear, my treasure. I am no beast.”

The fangs that creeped out from his smile warned you otherwise.

With a resigned sigh, you walked over to the door, gently rapping your fist against the thick wood. The door slid open with a loud creak—just like every other antique in the ancient palace. Your gaoler smiled upon seeing you, taking the time to look at your body.

“You resemble an ancient tome of poetry, appreciated only by its author,” Chrollo said, stepping into the room.

“Are you calling me old?”

“I apologize if you took it that way,” he chuckled, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I merely mean to say that you are a sumptuous artifact, deserving of being remembered by history for all time.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and ignoring the shiver that never failed to arise when Chrollo was with you.  “I prefer a simpler life, thank you.”

“I believe this one suits you far better. If you gave it a chance, I’m sure you’d come to realize the same.”

“I liked my old one.”

“Come now, my dear,” he sighed, moving a cold hand across your shoulder blades. “You always insist on speaking of the past. Why not look towards the future? It has so much to offer you.”

“Have you grown bored of comforting me?” you spat, pulling away from his touch. “Where are your soothing words, your golden gifts? Have you found a new game to play?”

Chrollo frowned, not bothering to reach for you again. Instead his arms rested at his sides, peacefully. Lifelessly.

“I have grown tired,” he emphasized, “of your refusal to move on. I have given you so much, only for it all to be rejected. I thought time would sway your choice, but it appears that I have failed to consider your…stubbornness.”

His expression had changed in the blink of an eye, now sporting his usual disconcerting smile.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, already stepping out of the room.

Your feet moved against your will, gliding across the floor and after Chrollo. It was something you hated, even more than his smug attitude and unneeded grandiose vocabulary. You could always reject him with your words, but in the end he had the power to cut your actions short. An obnoxious monster, as always.

“I have been thinking,” Chrollo began, trailing the dark halls, “about us. And my offer. I believe that I have been…entertaining your behaviors for too long. Time is a fickle thing for beings like you, and I fear you may not have much left.”

“I’m not dying,” you snorted. “Or are you just worried that I might start wrinkling early?”

Chrollo laughed at your words, “I am not afraid of fine wine, my dear. Just that your behavior will soon spiral out of control. If something were to happen, I would hate to have to chase you down. That is all.”

Your walk ended in the garden, bushes towers high above you and Chrollo. It was a place that, despite its beauty, you weren’t too fond of. It was a maze of Chrollo’s making—intentional, knowing him. If something were to enter through the garden, they would never make it to the castle before Chrollo got to them. And more importantly, you would never make it out.

A clearing stood before you, a wooden pavilion with a dozen chairs surrounding a table. Where fancy ladies would meet for fancy tea and gossip about the fancy going-ons in the palace. Like in storybooks you would read as a child.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Chrollo said, approaching the table. Upon it laid a goblet, and, despite the distance separating you, you could make out the sharp gleam of a knife.

“Choices must be made my dear, and I’m afraid that this is one I must make myself. I cannot bear the thought of being without you, and I seek to make our union permanent.”

Chrollo raised a hand in your direction, willing you to stand right before him.

“I could sink my teeth into your throat,” he chuckled. “We would become closer, that way. But you are wearing a 12th century royal Gorteauan gown, and I’d simply hate to ruin it.”

Your blood ran cold as he grabbed the knife, bringing it between you. It was almost as sharp as his fangs, but just as dangerous.

You knew what it was for, undoubtedly. Chrollo had talked about it plenty—about turning you into what he was. About stripping your mortality and bringing you a step closer to eternity. To paradise, to Eden, he claimed. You always pushed against his wishes, though. Insisting you had more life to live, that you were too scared, anything to halt the inevitable. But Chrollo was inevitable, and at the end of the day, his wishes all came true. Never yours.

The knife made purchase with the palm of Chrollo’s hand, causing droplets of crimson blood to spill out from the wound. He brought his hand up to your face, close enough for you to smell the iron from the cut.

“You only need to ingest a little bit. More than a lick, of course. But I’m quite potent,” he smirked.

If you weren’t so terrified, you maybe would have chuckled. Maybe you would have ran.

Chrollo’s smile slowly fell as you continued to do nothing, “Go on. I would hate to force you to do this as well.”

You took a shuddering breath and looked at the pool of blood, “Will…will it hurt?”

“Not a bit,” Chrollo assured you, his smile returning. “It will be painless. You’ll fall asleep afterwards, and your old life will feel like a dream. A rebirth, if you will.”

He continued, “Just think of what you will be now. No longer and Eve, now a Lilith. You will have power, permanence among the living, and me."

“...And it won’t hurt?”

“Not a bit,” he smiled.

You slowly lifted his hand, still freezing cold, closer to your mouth. You let the blood touch your quivering lips, staining them crimson. Perhaps you looked alluring, shaking like a deer with your reddened lips. Especially to a beast like Chrollo. A beast you would soon become. 

With one final anguished cry, you drank of his blood. It was as cold as his body, perhaps even colder. It did nothing to freeze your nerves, nor stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Those, too, began to feel colder and colder.

Chrollo held you close, running his free hand along your shoulder, whispering sweet comforts in your ear. Already the world seemed to be getting darker as each touch felt more dull.

“Now, now, my dearest angel. Imagine what new heights we can reach,” he chuckled, wiping stray blood from your face.

“We have all of eternity to see them. Together.”

[yoyomomiko]

BITE INTO ME

Pairings: Vampire!Feitan x F!reader

Summary: Feitan is usually under control, but ever since you joined the Phantom Troupe, he can't help but admire your blood each time it spills in battle. He simply wants a taste, always gazing at you with that look in his eyes that make your knees buckle. Just what happens when he catches you injured and vulnerable?

Warnings: BLOOD; wounds; slight gore (not really), MARKING; biting, CURSING, fighting, A BIT SUGGESTIVE but not really, Feitan's a little bitch, NOT PROOFREAD; might contain grammar mistakes, English is NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!!

(A/N): THIS WAS MY FAVOURITE FIC FROM MY HALLOWEEN SPECIAL AND I WAS WAITING TO WRITE THIS FOR SOOO LONG!! It honestly came out really good and this took me so long to write, but it was all worth it! -> halloween m.list

"Shit!" The word tore out of your mouth as you crashed down onto the cold and hard concrete. The impact shot blinding pain through your knees, your palms scraped against the rough ground, gravel scratching your skin as you caught yourself, fingers trembling.

You forced yourself to look up, breath ragged as you focused on the man in front of you, your target. He stood tall, his smirk barely hidden by his bloodstained lips. You could feel your heartbeat increasing, thudding in your ears, the harsh sting in your legs reminding you that you miscalculated and let your guard down at the wrong second.

Your mission, assigned by Chrollo, felt heavier than ever. And failure... Well, that wasn't an option.

You were new to the Phantom Troupe, fresh blood among a league of killers more ruthless and skilled than you could hope to be yet. The others were more used to pain, masters at controlling their suffering, all while you still feel every sting, every break in your body with too much clarity.

Your hand pressed over a gash on your arm, the sticky warmth of blood spreading over your palm. Even with a small amount of light, the red caught Feitan's gaze instantly. He stood nearby, his eyes fixed on the crimson streak trailing down your arm, and for a moment, he didn't look like your ally anymore, barely holding himself back.

"Get up." He murmured, voice low and almost irritated, yet his gaze remained glued to the blood. Despite the pain in your body, you could feel a chill run down your spine that had nothing to do with the target.

He stepped closer, almost too close. You could feel his gaze on you as you forced yourself to your feet, your knees throbbing and your arm slick with fresh blood. Feitan's eyes hadn't moved from you as the sting of your injuries were slowly fading.

The target lunged toward you again, throwing a punch with enough force to send you crashing back. Feitan moved in a blur, his hand grabbing the man's wrist with bone-crushing strength. His eyes widened in panic as he struggled, but it was far too late. Feitan twisted the man's arm with a snap, the sound making you sick as the target screamed in agony, all while listening to Feitan's degrading words.

Feitan shoved the man to the floor, glancing back at you, his eyes proving he was enjoying every second of this, savoring the moment.

Fueled by pain and anger, you stepped forward, fists clenched. You needed to prove you could handle this. Ignoring the pulsing ache in your legs, you moved quickly, catching the target off guard as he tried to recover from his broken arm and Feitan's brutal grip.

You drove your heel into his stomach, knocking the air out of him as he gasped. Feitan glanced at you with something that almost looked like approval.

Feitan, however, was far from finished. He crouched down in front of the gasping man, pulling out his thin sword with an unsettling smile on his face.

The target stuttered, but before he could get a word out, Feitan slashed a clean line across his chest, a slow cut that made the man yell out due to the horrifying pain. Feitan glanced at you, as if inviting you to finish it.

Gathering your strength, you gave a nod, stepping forward and delivering the final strike, driving your weapon down as the target's body went limp.

It was over, no other sound other than the slow drip of blood on the concrete.

You exhaled, the ache of your injuries coming back. Feitan's gaze was still on you, and this time, it trailed from the blood smearing on your hand to your bloodstained clothes.

"Not bad. Did good." He muttered, voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, you could almost feel the intensity of his gaze, as if the battle wasn't quite over yet, at least not for him.

"Thanks..." You huffed out, chest heaving up and down as you struggled to control your breath. You noticed Feitan's fangs peeking from behind his lips as his head was raised up, finally showing his full face.

"Be careful." His tone went softer, but it felt more like a warning than advice, as if he's reminding himself to stay in control.

...

...

...

You could sense Feitan's gaze burning through you, watching you closely. Little did you know, his control seemed to falter each time he saw blood. To be more specific, your blood.

Lately, he's been making up excuses to stand closer to you, or get into a mission along with you. His eyes betray every struggle to maintain his restraint, to hold back his thirst for just a taste. He always creeps up behind you, staring at you with piercing eyes.

You were wondering if it's because he hated you.

But that was not the case, no, not at all.

You accidentally cut your finger by accident due to playing around with your weapon. It wasn't anything serious by all means, but it was enough to draw blood. You thought you were alone, until you felt a familiar presence behind you, a shadow towering over you.

"Do you need anything?" You asked in a hushed tone, gently licking the blood from your finger, just to ease the sting up a bit. That didn't go unnoticed by Feitan.

"Just wanted to check." He replied, seeming unbothered. Truth is, he wanted to leap forward and bite into your neck, just to taste your blood, wich only seemed to cloud his mind each passing second.

Feitan's curiosity about you clearly grew, and he can no longer disguise the fact that he's drawn to you not just as a fellow fighter, but something more primal. His stare feels more intense, his presence darker. You caught him staring at you countless times, eyeing you from bottom to top.

"Check what?" You asked, titling your head to the side. Feitan thought you were teasing him, somehow always ending up full of blood and panting. It was as if you wanted him to just lick away at your wounds.

"Your cut. Let me see." He answered, grabbing your wrist and inspecting the way red seeped out of your small wound over your finger.

He gently brushed his finger over your injury, but it was for sure an accident as he got some of the blood on his own fingertips.

Feitan released your hand, letting it fall down slowly as you stared up at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks each time you blinked, only provoking Feitan further.

He let out a silent groan, turning around and taking a quick glance at you, before exiting the room, leaving you dumbfounded.

What you didn't know, is that the moment Feitan was out of your sight, he began licking away the few drops of blood that smeared on his finger, the taste only feeding onto his desire and need for more.

...

...

...

You panted, pressing your hand over the harsh wound on your shoulder, sticky warm blood smearing everywhere. You were gravely injured, already completely vulnerable.

The rest of the Phantom Troupe were fighting against a rival gang, but the moment you got this badly wounded, you fled and found a hiding spot. You felt pathetic, as if you were betraying them by acting this weak, running away from battle.

One of the men from the rival gang got to you, the impact shooting a blinding pain through your whole arm. That sharp, jolting ache left you momentarily dazed, before you went into 'fight or flight' mode, and completely ran away.

Tears were threatening your eyes, not because of the burning agony you felt in your injuries, but because you were ashamed for what you've done.

Just then you heard footsteps, panic racing through your veins, your heartbeat increasing once more. You weren't sure if you were ready to fight, you were too vulnerable right now.

Feitan, shit, it was only Feitan.

Feitan had found you before the others, his eyes holding a dark edge to it. A glint that hinted he was savoring every second of watching you like this. You can feel the intensity of his struggle, the barely contained thirst as he kneels in front of you, one hand moving to steady you while the other traces a line close to your wound.

He hesitated, clenching his fists and trying to force them away from you, but he just couldn't.

"Just a taste?" He asked, voice low and hushed. It wasn't a question for your permission but of how much he can restrain himself.

You feel his cold fingers tilt your chin, his lips brushing dangerously close to your skin. His other hand hovered over your wound, his fingers ghosting across the torn fabric and the warmth of blood beneath.

His eyes flicked back to yours, enjoying your vulnerability, the quiet hitch in your breath as he leaned in closer. You swallowed, heart pounding as he watched you carefully, his lips tugging upwards in a dark and twisted smile, as if tormenting you.

He gripped your hand, the hand that you held over the bleeding gash in your shoulder. He took your hand off of where you were hiding your precious blood, gently placing it in your lap. The red slicked down your arm as you let out a hiss, the cold air hitting your open wound.

"Scared?" He asked, voice dropping to a whisper, taunting blended with something deeper, something dangerous.

Before you could answer, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing the edge of your wound, so light you almost couldn't feel it. You held your breath, a stinging feeling in your chest.

All of the sudden, he pressed his fangs down. A sharp, electric pain mixed with something you couldn't quite name as his mouth touched your skin, savoring that first taste of blood.

Your breath hitched, and for a split second, the world faded, every surrounding disappearing as it was just you and him. From the firm press of his hands, to the cold touch of his fingers against your jaw, and the strange warmth of his mouth tracing the wound with a hunger that made your pulse race.

He pulled away slightly, only to dig his sharp teeth into your exposed skin, making you bleed as he drew more blood, tasting you completely, smearing the crimson on your clean skin. You let out a groan as he left a mark, licking away at the seeping red.

It was like every instinct you had was screaming at you to pull away, to move, to protect yourself. But something in his gaze held you frozen.

He drew back slightly, his lips stained faintly red as he looked down at you. His fingers traced down your jawline, gently brushing over your pulse as if feeling the rapid beat there.

"Weak." He murmured, almost a mockery, yet his grip on you was steady, gentle and careful.

You wanted to snap back, to defend yourself, but the pain and the fear left you speechless. A part of you knew you should've been scared, should've wanted to push him away. But he could easily overpower you, his eyes flaming as he studied you like you were fragile, something to be toyed with.

"Next time..." He whispered, lips close to your ear.

"Don't hide." He warned, letting his words sink in. With that, he released you, leaving you to steady yourself as he rose to his feet, his gaze still holding that twisted satisfaction.

Without another word, he turned around and walked away, the faintest hint of your blood smeared on his lips as he disappeared back into the battle, leaving you shaking and breathless, unable to decide if what you felt was fear, or something else entirely.

★yoyomiko ★miko